


Pin-Up

by anotetofollow



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Car Sex, Collars, Complete, Edging, Epilogue, Eventual Romance, F/M, Femdom, Fingerfucking, Happy Ending, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, I was gonna tag this PWP, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Naked Male Clothed Female, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pegging, Photo Shoots, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Riding Crops, Romance, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Spanking, Sub Blackwall (Dragon Age), Submission, Teasing, Underwear Kink, and they will be worse, bastinado, but then that went wrong, facesitting, we're down the rabbit hole now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow
Summary: “Everything okay, Freckles?” Varric asks.“Yep,” she says. “Except you could have like, warned me about that, you know?”Varric looks over to where Mr November is standing and laughs. “Shit. I should have guessed he’d be your type.”When Tanith Lavellan is called in to shoot a charity calendar as a favour to an old friend she's not expecting more than a fun afternoon's work. But one of the models catches her eye, and inspires her very particular tastes.Modern AU with a femdom smut, slow-burn romance focus.
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Lavellan
Comments: 43
Kudos: 101





	1. Lace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [Kim Petras - Got My Number](https://open.spotify.com/track/10pb48uTPwADEC9yb7j2ty)   
>  [Rina Sawayama - XS](https://open.spotify.com/track/7098jjEGYUNQyhYfDioLTe)   
>  [Cardi B & Bruno Mars - Please Me](https://open.spotify.com/track/0PG9fbaaHFHfre2gUVo7AN)

It was a favour to Varric. They had met a few years back, when she had just gone freelance and his business was beginning to take off. Tanith had done a few shoots for him, just promo stuff, and he kept bringing her back in when more work came up. It was a good setup. They became friends over time, getting drinks after jobs and occasionally hanging out on the weekends. His repeat custom allowed Tanith to pad out her portfolio, helping her to make a modestly successful living from photography, and Varric’s myriad ventures flourished. Now he owns an assortment of auto shops, bars and other miscellaneous businesses around the city, and has become something of a local mogul. Tanith doesn’t see him as often these days, her work having shifted more to fashion photography than interiors, but they still find the time to catch up when they can.

So, when he calls her one day and asks if she’ll shoot for a charity calendar he’s making, she’s quick to say yes.

“What’s the theme?” she says. It’s early still, and Tanith is sitting on the tiny balcony of her studio apartment sipping her morning coffee.

“You know those glamour calendars the boys always have hung up in the shop?”

“I do.” On a few occasions Tanith has had to take down the photos of scantily-clad women during a shoot, pretty certain that they wouldn’t scream ‘wholesome family business’.

“Well it’s like that,” he says. “But with guys.”

Tanith bursts out laughing. “Oh, that’s great. Your idea?”

“Another Tethras original. So, are you in?”

“You want me to spend my Saturday taking pictures of hot guys in their underwear?” she says. “Darling, I’ll do it gratis.”

The shoot takes place a few days later, in one of Varric’s smaller auto shops. He’s closed up for the weekend to give them some privacy, with one side door left unlocked for the ‘models’. None of the guys he’s bringing in are professionals — mostly men who work at the shop, a couple of employees from the charity they’re raising funds for — but the ones who have already arrived when Tanith gets there seem game for it. They stand by the refreshments table in silk and lace and suspenders, drinking coffee and talking like it’s just another day at the office.

“This is gonna sell like mad,” Sera says. “All them pervy mums reading dirty books on Kindle? Right up their street.” Tanith’s assistant hadn’t been happy about getting up early for a weekend job, but had relented when she heard how much the overtime was. Even if she's working for free, Tanith always pays her staff.

Varric comes out of the office to greet them, still looking much more like a beach bum than an entrepreneur. Numerous investors have tried to talk him out of the Hawaiian shirts and the earring, at least on official occasions, but he’s remained stubborn. Now the ‘eccentric CEO’ thing is all a part of his brand. “Morning! Help yourself to coffee, muffins—”

Sera is already gone, pushing past several half-naked men to get to a tray of danishes.

“It’s good to see you.” Tanith steps forward to hug her friend. “How long’s it been? Three months?”

“Must be. Damn, where did that go?”

“No idea,” she says. “So, you’re a philanthropist now?”

“Hardly.” Varric runs his fingers through his hair. “The foundation helped a lot when Dad was sick, and they were looking for sponsors. Seemed like the least I could do.”

“How’s he doing, anyway?”

“Same hardass as ever. He’ll outlive all of us.” Varric’s grumbling, but he can’t keep the relief from his voice. Things had been touch and go there, for a while.

“Okay,” Tanith says, clapping her hands together. “Give us half an hour to set up and then we’ll get started?”

“Sounds good. I’ll corral the boys, you just work your magic.”

Tanith manages to drag Sera away from the pastries and the two of them begin unpacking their equipment. It’s a cute idea, Tanith thinks, having the auto shop as the backdrop. It’s a nice little callback to Pirelli, plus the contrast of ‘ripped dudes and cars’ with ‘delicate lingerie’ is just right. A little subversive, but still fun. Sera’s right; this will make a killing.

Once everything is ready Tanith lets Varric know they’re good to go, and he calls over the first model. Tanith recognises Mr January from the shop, one of the mechanics who’s been with Varric since the early days. Today he’s traded his overalls for a corset and stockings, and Tanith has to admit that he’s kind of owning it.

“Alright,” she says, gesturing to a line of tape on the floor. “Stand on the mark for me? Okay. Let’s go.”

Mr January is a good sport, flexing and preening for the camera without Tanith needing to give him much direction. It doesn’t take too long, and soon she’s calling for the next model. Mr February is a little more bashful, and it takes a little longer for him to warm up. Tanith is patient — these guys aren’t pro, after all — and eventually he gets into the swing of things.

They hit a rhythm after that. All the spring guys are easy to work with, and she’s finished with Mr July by the time they break for lunch. It’s a fun little shoot. All of the men Varric has brought in are cute, and though none of them are Tanith’s type she can appreciate an aesthetic as much as the next woman. What she does want to know is where he managed to source the wardrobe. All of the lingerie the models are wearing is quality stuff, not cheap — Tanith is something of a connoisseur herself, and she recognises a few of the brands on sight.

After a quick lunch of Vietnamese takeout eaten in Varric’s cramped office they’re back to work. A few adjustments to the lights, then up with Mr August. This one is really shy, almost trembling as he shrugs out of his robe.

“Hey,” Tanith says. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He smiles weakly. “Just a little nervous, is all. I’ve never done anything like this before. Obviously.”

“Well there’s no pressure. If you’re not comfortable we can find someone to step in, no problem.” She and Varric had both foreseen this issue arising, and they had a couple of mutual friends on standby if anyone got cold feet. Tanith was actually fairly sure that Bull was _hoping_ they would call him in to save the day.

Mr August shakes his head decisively. “No, I’ll be fine. It’s a great charity.”

“That it is,” Tanith says. “Okay, we’ll get started when you’re ready. No rush.”

In the end, Mr August ends up being one of the best models of the day. Once he’s over his nerves he really gets into it, pulling poses Tanith hasn’t even asked for. Sera and Varric holler and wolf-whistle encouragement from the sidelines, and when he’s finished he earns a round of applause from the other guys. He bows before picking up his robe and going into the back to change.

Mr September is a piece of cake. A personal trainer from the gym Varric has shares in, Tanith is sure she’s not asking him to do anything he doesn’t already do in front of the mirror a hundred times a day. A few minutes snapping while he does bicep curls in a bodysuit and they’re done. Mr October is almost as easy, and Tanith is starting to think about heading home for the evening.

“Alright,” she calls while she flicks over the last few shots. “November up!”

Tanith isn’t even paying attention when Mr November takes his spot. When she finally looks up she blinks, opens her mouth, blinks again. The man standing in front of her is bigger than the others, broad and tall and — she’s speculating now — just the right amount of soft under his robe. His dark hair and beard have a little grey in them, and the slight flush at his cheeks belies his stoic expression. This one is much, much more her type.

“Hi,” she says, like an idiot.

“Hello,” he says. “So, do I…”

“Whenever you’re ready,” she says. “Take as much time as you—”

But he’s already shrugging out of his robe, and Tanith feels like she might pass out for a second. He’s exactly what she pictured except _better_ somehow, broad chest thick with hair and tattooed arms and love handles worthy of the name, the contrast with the scraps of navy silk and lace he’s wearing almost more than she can cope with.

For the first time that day, Tanith doesn’t know where to look. She opens her mouth to say ‘back in a second’ but the words don’t materialise, so instead she holds up two fingers and unceremoniously walks away. At the refreshments table she opens a bottle of water and downs half of it in a few quick sips, willing herself desperately to _calm the fuck down_.

“Everything okay, Freckles?” Varric asks.

“Yep,” she says. “Except you could have like, warned me about _that_ , you know?”

Varric looks over to where Mr November is standing and laughs. “Shit. I should have guessed he’d be your type.”

“Yeah, on that point,” Tanith swings round, hands on her hips. “Why have you been holding out on me, Tethras? How many other hot friends are you hiding?”

“Blackwall’s not a friend, precisely,” Varric says. “More of an acquaintance. Did some restoration work for me last year.”

“Still,” she says. “Damn. Shit. Okay.” Tanith straightens her hair, attempts to get a handle on herself. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Just… try not to scare him off, okay? He’s a really good contractor.”

Tanith somehow manages to maintain her composure for the rest of Blackwall’s shoot, but only just, and she knows that she’s rushing her way through it. For all of her jokes with Varric it feels kind of sleazy to be this attracted to a model, and she doesn’t ever want to be accused of unprofessionalism. She’s weirdly relieved when the session is over and he’s back in his robe. Even if she can’t stop thinking about satin straps straining at the muscles of his shoulders, the trail of hair down his stomach— 

Tanith pinches herself, hard. _Get it together, Lavellan_. She calls for Mr December, catches Sera’s eye while she checks the light levels. Her assistant gives her a look so withering that Tanith knows that she has done an incredibly bad job of keeping her cool. Oh well. Nothing doing now.

She is momentarily distracted when Varric himself comes out and stands on the mark. He drops his robe to reveal some kind of atrocious Santa-themed babydoll, leaving Tanith and Sera in hysterics.

“Mr December,” Tanith says, shaking her head. “Holy shit.”

“It’s always been my ethos as an employer that you should never ask anyone to do anything you won’t do yourself,” Varric says. “Hurry up, will you? Something down there is chafing me to hell.”

Fifteen minutes later they’re done. Varric shuffles off to the back office to change while Sera packs away their equipment and Tanith checks her shots from the day. A pretty good selection, for a quick n’ dirty shoot. She’ll look them over properly tomorrow, touch up the best ones and send them across to Varric for final approval.

She wants to catch up with Varric before she goes, and so she waits outside his office door while Sera drives back to the studio. A few of the guys are still hanging around by the coffee pot, back in their regular clothes. Mr November — _Blackwall_ — is there too, at the edge of the group, not talking to anyone in particular. Now she’s not wielding a camera and he’s not basically naked she can look at him without her toes curling. So she smiles when she catches his eye, walks over to where he’s standing. She can get flustered sometimes, same as anyone, but no one would ever accuse Tanith Lavellan of being shy.

“So. Have fun?” she asks.

“It was different,” he says. “I’ll say that much.”

Tanith laughs. “For me too. This isn’t exactly my usual line of work. I owed Varric a favour.”

“I suspect everyone in this room owes Varric a favour.”

He’s attractive in clothes too, Tanith has decided. Still, she can’t help but wonder if he’s still wearing those little scraps of silk under the rough plaid of his shirt. Before she’s gone further down that thought spiral Varric is back, mercifully not commenting when he sees them together.

“Honestly, Freckles, I don’t know how women do it,” he says. “There’s things that… _wedge_ … places.”

“Well, you did a stellar job, Mr December,” Tanith says. “It’ll be a great calendar.”

“I’m glad I caught you both, actually,” he says. “We’re having a little fundraiser at the Lounge tonight. Last minute thing, just to say thank you to the guys and raise a few extra pennies. Can you make it?”

“Sure,” Tanith says. “I’ll be there.”

She resists the urge to look at Blackwall, and is quietly pleased when he tells Varric that he’s free as well. Hitting on a model at a shoot is off limits. Hitting on a guy at a bar is pedestrian.

Varric meets her eye then, just for a second, and Tanith wonders whether he’s contrived the whole thing for her benefit. He has historically been a god-tier wingman. Since there’s no reason for her to hang around any longer Tanith says her goodbyes to Varric and the models and heads out of the shop. On her way out she chances one backwards glance at Blackwall, catches him watching her leave. She smiles to herself as she walks out onto the street, a cat-with-the-cream kind of smile. It’s going to be a good night.

* * *

Tanith has hours to kill before the fundraiser. She takes advantage of the time to pamper herself a little, laying in the bathtub until her fingertips wrinkle and then spending an inordinately long time doing her nails and hair and makeup. Her work keeps her too busy for this kind of thing most of the time, and she’s forever doing her lipstick in the passenger seat of Sera’s car or trying to tame her curls in the studio’s tiny bathroom. It’s nice getting to indulge herself a little. She sits on the balcony in a towel while she’s waiting for her nail polish to dry, enjoying the warmth of the summer air and the sounds of the city evening. The apartment is tiny, and more expensive than she can really afford, but it’s her pride and joy. Tanith loves her space, loves coming home to her little walk-up oasis after a long day at work. After years of living in crowded dumps with crappy roommates, getting her own place was a gift to herself.

Once she’s sure her nails are dry she gets up and begins thumbing through her wardrobe. That’s a perk of the job; sometimes smaller labels will let her take a few pieces home after a shoot. Consequently she has a lot of clothes she could never ordinarily afford, things that would fetch a decent price online but she can’t bear to part with. She picks a little sixties-style dress in powder blue with a Peter Pan collar, leather ankle boots with a heel that upgrades her height to ‘average’. Then, all of a sudden, she’s run out of ways to get ready. Checking the time she realises she’s running late as it is.

She gets a cab to the Lounge, a dimly lit little bar in a hipster part of town. Varric bought the place before the neighbourhood got popular, and has resisted several offers to buy him out since. It was the first bar he invested in, and along with being a total goldmine it also holds some sentimental value for him and his friends. It’s often the place they go to drink, occasionally staying long after the doors have closed to regular patrons.

Bull is behind the bar when Tanith gets there, and he raises a hand in greeting. Once he’s finished serving his customer he comes over to her, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you didn’t call,” he says. “I was _so sure_ one of the other guys would drop out.”

“Looking forward to it, were you?” Tanith asks.

“If I wasn’t on shift all day I would have been first on that list,” he says. “Anyway. Usual?”

“You know it.”

There are a few charity collection buckets on the bar, and Tanith rifles around in her purse for spare change while Bull mixes her drink. He returns a moment later with a martini, the delicate glass looking comically small in his hand. Tanith spears the olive and chews it thoughtfully while she looks out over the bar. Varric’s there already, deep in conversation with Mr February, and she recognises a few other models among the patrons. Sera and Dagna are in their usual corner booth, ignoring everyone else. No Blackwall yet. Tanith tells herself that she’s not disappointed, takes a sip of her drink and goes to say hello to Varric.

Even if it has been pulled together at the last minute, it’s a great party. Varric has the knack for getting disparate people in a room together and making them all behave like old friends. He even gets Sera and Dagna up and mingling, and before long they’re taking it in turns to arm wrestle Mr September. Tanith circulates, practiced now after several years of classy event functions. She can make small talk with anyone, if pressed, and she chats happily to models and charity reps and Varric’s various business associates. After a while she begins to forget her disappointment at Blackwall’s absence, busy enjoying the music and the drinks and the company.

And then he walks in, and she forgets everything else instead. He hasn’t dressed up for the occasion, hasn’t even changed, and Tanith is so glad that he hasn’t. In this room full of primped and preened professional types — herself included — he’s a perfect anomaly. She resists the urge to approach him immediately, instead hanging back at the edge of the crowd and striking up a conversation with Mr August. Either his earlier performance has emboldened him or he’s much more confident with his clothes on, because he’s a pretty good conversationalist. Eventually he leaves Tanith to go and get another drink, and she glances semi-casually around the room to see where Blackwall is. He’s standing near the back door, alone, looking considerably more uncomfortable here than he did during the shoot. It’s almost tragic to watch, the way he nurses his drink and worries his lip with his teeth, clearly ill at ease in this company.

Well, she can’t leave him like that, can she?

Tanith wanders over in his general direction like she’s looking for someone else, then catches his eye and smiles. He looks relieved to see her, visibly relaxing as she approaches.

“Mr November,” she says. “Enjoying yourself?”

“It’s… good.” Tanith can see that he’s trying desperately to be polite, knowing that she’s friends with the host. “Busy.”

“Varric knows how to throw a party,” she says. “I’ll say that much for him. But be honest. You’re having a horrible time, aren’t you?”

“Awful,” he sighs. “I’ve never understood the appeal of a bar where you can’t hear yourself talk. Especially when you’re paying this much for the privilege.”

Tanith has to concede the last point. The prices at the Lounge are bordering on extortionate, hiked up for the new hipster clientele. “So why did you come?”

Blackwall shrugs and, _fuck_ , those shoulders. “Seemed rude not to. Considering.”

“Do you not think that standing in the middle of an empty garage in lingerie and having a stranger take photos of you might have already fulfilled that obligation?”

Tanith’s guess that Blackwall is the blushing type proves correct. His cheeks visibly colour above his beard, and he clears his throat nervously before speaking. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“I’m teasing,” she says, resting her hand lightly on his arm. “I’m glad you came.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” The bar is packed enough, loud enough, that it’s not conspicuous for her to step closer to him. “I was hoping I’d see you.”

“Right.” He doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that, but Tanith is sure that he’s not reluctant; he’s leaning a little into her touch on his arm, bending low to hear her.

She speaks close to his ear, her lips almost touching his skin. “Can you take a guess as to why?

“I can guess,” he says. “But you might slap me if it was wrong.”

Tanith laughs. “It’s not. Middle cubicle, five minutes.”

“What?” He looks slightly alarmed at that suggestion; alarmed, but not at all upset.

“You heard exactly what I said.” Tanith folds her arms across her chest, turning away from him. “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself.”

“Wait,” he says. “I feel like I should know your name, at least?”

She looks back over her shoulder. “That won’t be necessary.” Then she’s back in the crowd, squeezing between the press of people as she heads over to the other side of the bar.

Thank God for the Lounge and its single-cubicle bathrooms. The middle one is mercifully empty and Tanith locks herself inside, putting her bag down on top of the cistern and taking a moment to check her hair in the mirror. She realises belatedly that her heart is racing. It’s been a long time since she approached someone like that, but something tells her that it wasn’t a poor gamble. The way he had looked at her — intrigued, disarmed, a little skittish — that’s a look she knows. Some men can sense it in her straight away, can tell what she wants from them before she even speaks it. Tanith has learned to gauge which ones are amenable to her tastes and which ones aren’t. Something tells her that Blackwall might be very amenable indeed.

She’s beginning to wonder whether she’s missed her guess when there’s a quiet knock on the door. Tanith opens it, steps back to let him through, closes and locks it with a motion so smooth she surprises even herself.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” she says.

“I wasn’t sure I was,” he says. “It’s not that you’re— I don’t usually do things like this. Or, at all, actually.”

Tanith takes a step forward, runs her fingers up his arm, strokes his neck. She can feel his pulse there, faster even than her own. “Lots of firsts for you today.”

“That’s true.”

She moves her hand down his chest, slowly, lazily, with intent. When she hits his waistband she hooks two fingers underneath it, hums with pleasure when she finds what she was looking for. “You must have been busy today,” she says, thumbing the lace. “Didn’t have time to change?”

Blackwall says nothing. He’s breathing heavy already, looking down at her with eyes the colour of dirty snow.

“Or,” Tanith says, a smile playing across her lips, “not such a first after all?”

“Maybe not.” There’s a question in the words, or maybe a challenge. He’s waiting for mockery, perhaps, or judgement.

“I like that.” She runs a lazy finger along the line of his hip. “Kiss me.”

If Tanith was concerned that he might not be as into this as she was, those fears are put to bed the minute he kisses her. There’s real hunger in it, his mouth is rough against hers, and as she wraps her arms around his neck she feels his hands slide down to cup her ass. A dull pressure against her lower back as she’s pushed up against the sink. As much as she’s enjoying his enthusiasm, that’s not how any of this works.

Tanith grips his shoulders in manicured hands and pushes, letting the momentum carry them forward. His back meets the panelled wall, hard, and then she’s pressing herself to the solid mass of his body. She stands on tiptoe, trails her fingers slowly down his chest as she pops open the buttons of his shirt.

“One thing you have to understand,” she whispers, catching his earlobe between her teeth. “You’re not going to be the one in charge here. Is that a problem for you?”

He almost leans against her, his lips finding the exposed flesh above her collar. “No,” he says. “Not even slightly.”

“Good.” Her hand is at his belt now, slipping the leather free from its buckle, unzipping his jeans, easing them down over his hips. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”

Tanith steps back to admire him in a way that she couldn’t at the shoot. The light in the bathroom is dim but it’s enough to see by, enough to appreciate his strong features, the musculature of his chest, the way his underwear cuts into the soft skin at his hips. She crouches down to examine that particular feature more closely. His cock is straining against the lace already, and he sucks in a breath when Tanith reaches out to stroke him with her fingertips. She moves glacier-slow, enjoying the incongruity of his hardness against the delicate fabric. From the way his fists are balling at his sides she can tell this isn’t easy for him, to stand there and let her touch him without intervening. She likes that. Passive lovers are of no interest to her; she wants someone who has to master themselves, who will control their urges when she asks it of them.

Eventually Tanith leans forward, runs her tongue along the covered length of him. Blackwall shudders, reaches out to touch the back of her head, stops himself. She rewards him for that restraint, putting her lips around his cock and sucking lightly through the lace. He moans low in his throat when she does that and she looks up to watch him, to see his chest heaving with desire for her. Before long the lace and silk is soaked with her saliva, and Tanith is sure that someone’s going to hear him, all that noise he’s making. She teases him a little longer before pulling his waistband down and letting his cock spring free. When she takes him into her mouth he swears loudly, braces one hand against the bathroom wall. She digs her fingernails hard into the flesh of his hips, steadily applying pressure, feeling her own need growing as she thinks of the bruises they’ll leave, purple crescents on pale skin.

There’s a quickening to his breath a minute later that tells her he’s close, and she’s up and on her feet before he can have that satisfaction. She laughs when she sees the look on Blackwall’s face, that absolute devastation that comes with denial. He closes his eyes as Tanith runs her thumb along the line of his cheekbone.

“You’re a screamer,” she says. “I don’t care how loud the music is, someone definitely heard that.” The bathroom sink is set into a cabinet with a narrow shelf on either side. Tanith leaves him to go and perch on the edge of one, enjoying the view of him standing there, dishevelled, half-sick with wanting her. “I wonder what they’d say if they could see you here like this. But maybe that’s your thing, hmm? Maybe you like being seen all desperate.”

“Not by anyone.” His voice is low in his throat. “By you… yes.”

She’s pleased with that answer. “You like being in this state with me?”

“Yes.”

“Come here. Tell me properly.”

He closes the space between them, standing as close as he can without touching. Tanith puts a knee to either side of his hips and squeezes, just slightly, luxuriating in the way his head tips back. Outside there’s the sound of a glass shattering, and the round of applause that follows.

“Tell me.” She increases the pressure. “Tell me what it is you like.”

Blackwall leans forward to speak into her ear. It’s so he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes while he says the words, she knows, something she usually wouldn’t tolerate, but she’ll go easy this time. “I like you seeing me like this,” he says.

“Like what?”

A moment’s hesitation. “Degraded.”

Tanith kisses his neck gently. “Darling,” she says. “If you think you’ve been degraded now, then you and I haven’t spent enough time together.”

He doesn’t respond to that, just leans his forehead against hers. Tanith can feel the heat emanating from him, can smell the sweat and sex on his skin. This isn’t the time or the place for something more drawn out, and she wants him now, more than she’s wanted anyone in a long time. She pulls him closer.

“If I let you fuck me,” she says, “can you be quiet?”

“I can try.”

“Good enough.”

His mouth is hot against hers, longing, and when she guides his hands to her waist they grip firm and sure. Tanith reaches between them to pull her own underwear to the side — soaking, she notices — and guides him inside her. For all of her remonstrations she cries out herself when he grinds against her, feeling him so deep it leaves her dizzy. She lifts her knees, digging the sharp heels of her boots into the flesh of his ass, urging him on. He obliges, moving hard against her, the friction of his groin against her clit sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

“Don’t hold back,” she breathes, sinking her heels in deep enough to pull a gasp from his throat.

And he doesn’t, clinging to her hips as he fucks her with all the urgency his pent-up desire demands. Tanith holds onto the faucet to keep herself steady, arches her back, his thrusts hitting that spot that makes her see stars. Lost in his own rapture Blackwall forgets his promise and groans low against her throat. Quick as blinking Tanith has her legs wrapped around his back, tight enough to stop him in his tracks.

“What did I say?” she says, holding him in place.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

“What did I _say_?”

The shame in his eyes when he speaks is nectar to her. “That I’d keep quiet.”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“Well then. Seeing as you can’t be trusted to do it yourself.” She clamps her hand tight across his mouth. His beard is rough against her palm, his laboured breath warm on her skin. “Try again.”

As soon as she’s loosened her grip on his waist he thrusts into her with even more fervour than before, moaning against her fingers, arms enveloping her waist, deep and hard and _perfect_. Tanith can feel the damp lace of his underwear against her own, the knowledge of that deepening her pleasure further. She wraps her free arm around him, crushing his chest to hers, wanting him close, close, _close_.

Tanith looks up at him. “Cum for me,” she says.

With her hand on his face he can’t turn away this time. He is eyes are on hers through it, through the cry her palm barely muffles, through the bucking of his hips, through the final sharp dig of her heels against his skin. When it’s over she moves her hand away and kisses him, more softly than she has all evening. Her seal of approval. His reward.

She takes her cues from him after that, holding him to her until he’s ready to move away. He gets dressed while Tanith hops down off the sink, adjusting her underwear and smoothing down her skirt so she isn’t just standing there staring at him. Everything will be a little raw now, she knows, a little close to the surface. This isn’t the right time for orders.

When Blackwall’s decent again she smiles at him. It’s half reassurance, half compliment, and he returns it with a sudden shyness that threatens to drive her crazy all over again.

“That was fun,” she says. “Thank you.”

That seems to take him by surprise a little. “Thank _you_.”

Tanith walks over to him, and when she kisses him it’s an honest thing. He’s still shaking a little. The rush of affection she feels for him then, this man who doesn’t know her name, is something close to profound.

She retrieves her bag from the cistern and fishes around in it for her lipstick. Blackwall watches her curiously as she takes his wrist in her hand and turns his arm over, searching for a patch of skin not covered in ink. When she finds one she writes her phone number on it in lipstick, large enough to be conspicuous, one last little claim on him. Then she runs it over her own lips and presses them to his neck, leaving the mark of her kiss behind.

“I’m Tanith,” she says. “Call me.”

Then she shoulders her bag, unlocks the door and leaves, having to content herself with imagining the look on his face as he watches her walk away.


	2. Leather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [Billie Eilish - bad guy](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Fxmhks0bxGSBdJ92vM42m)   
>  [Suede - Animal Nitrate](https://open.spotify.com/track/6xbqbG8quMT88zadubrWtl)   
>  [Purity Ring - Grandloves](https://open.spotify.com/track/7H1MVTCY4zJJtzwlu611zY)

“Okay, that’s great.” Tanith puts her eye to the camera and clicks the shutter twice. “Now turn this way a little. Right there. Perfect.”

They’re shooting in the studio this morning, website photos for a new sustainable fashion line. The brief the company gave her was very hippy-dippy, all free love and Woodstock, and the air is sickly with the scent of wilted flowers. Tanith likes the clothes though, and she knows a couple of the models from previous shoots, so it’s not been a bad day’s work. She’s dying for a cup of coffee and some fresh air, and after the next outfit is finished she calls for a break.

Tanith and Sera leave one of the other assistants in charge of the studio and walk round the corner to their regular cafe. It’s another hot day and they manage to grab an outside table, moving their chairs into a patch of shade.

“What do you want?” Tanith says. “On me.”

Sera counts off on her fingers. “Iced coffee, vanilla. Cuban sandwich. Sweet potato fries. One of those little pistachio cake things, if they have them. Oh, and lemonade.” She shrugs. “I’m hungry.”

“I’ll try and remember all that,” Tanith grins.

She’s standing in the queue at the counter when her phone buzzes in her pocket. Looking around to make sure no one can see over her shoulder, she swipes open the message.

_Still on for 8?_

Tanith smiles to herself, taps back _of course_

A reply comes almost immediately. _Want me to bring anything?_

 _just yourself_ . She types out _and that ass_ then deletes it, shaking her head. Stupid.

She’s at the front of the queue by then, and she puts her phone away while she lists off Sera’s massive order plus a flat white and a bagel for herself. Before she goes back outside she surreptitiously checks her phone again, scrolling through the last day’s worth of messages and feeling a flutter of excitement in her stomach.

It took Blackwall over a week to call. Tanith was starting to wonder whether she’d heard the last of him when her phone rang one evening, _unknown number_ flashing on the screen. He had been nervous when she picked up, stumbling over his words, but within half an hour they had settled into an easy patter. The conversation they started that night didn’t stop when they hung up in the early hours of the morning, and they had been messaging almost constantly since. It brought a little excitement to her days, waking up to a new text or feeling her phone vibrate in her pocket during a shoot. She loved this part of a new liaison. Something fresh and new and unexpected, a landscape still to be charted.

Within a couple of days they had moved from flirting to photos, and Tanith was forever excusing herself to the bathroom to open half-naked pictures or take some of her own. That presented her first opportunity to start feeling out the the dynamic growing between them. She told Blackwall what she wanted to see and when, her instructions growing more specific and elaborate over time, and invariably he did as she asked. This opened the door for more discussion; they circled around one another, slowly at first, feeling out boundaries and tastes and hard limits. Such negotiations were necessary, but Tanith didn’t find them a chore. It was a pleasure, that gentle testing of the waters, the slow building of trust that was crucial in her kind of play.

Once she was certain that they had an understanding in place Tanith had suggested that they meet again in person. Due to their conflicting work schedules and other commitments it was another week before they were both free, but the day has finally rolled around. She woke up that morning giddy with anticipation, and has been struggling to concentrate ever since.

“What are you smiling about?” Sera says when Tanith returns to their table.

“Nothing.”

“Screw your nothing. Tell me.”

Tanith does her best to look demure. “A lady never tells.”

“It’s that beardy one from the calendar shoot, isn’t it?” she asks. “The one you shagged in the toilet.”

Tanith blinks. She most certainly did not tell Sera about that part.

“You think you’re so subtle,” her assistant snickers. “You do know that you’re not, right?”

“I think you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“You disappear for half an hour and come back with that shit-eating grin on your face, and he stumbles out five minutes later looking like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards. It’s _so obvious_. You’re _so crap_ at keeping secrets.”

“Fine,” Tanith relents. “He’s coming over tonight.”

“No wonder you’ve been on another planet all day. First date jitters, right? Or, no, second date.” She frowns. “One and a half?”

“It’s not a date.”

“What are you doing?”

“He’s coming over for dinner.”

“That’s a date.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is! A bloke’s coming to your house to eat food and have weird sex with you. How is that not a date?”

“I don’t know!” Tanith sighs, exasperated. “I don’t like labels, alright? Does it have to be anything?”

“Nothing _has_ to be anything. Sometimes they just are.”

Luckily that’s the moment the waitress brings their food, and soon Sera’s too busy inhaling carbs to interrogate Tanith further. While her assistant is otherwise occupied Tanith checks her phone under the table, opening the three unread messages that have come through while she and Sera were arguing.

_Alright. I’ll see you then._

_Can’t wait._

The last message is a photo that makes Tanith’s eyes widen a little, and she quickly locks her phone and tucks it back into her pocket.

Sera shakes her head, flicks a crumb of sweet potato at Tanith. “Not. Subtle. _At all._ ”

When they get back to the studio the smell of rotting vegetation is almost overwhelming, and they have to spend half an hour opening windows and throwing away sad bunches of carnations before they can carry on with the shoot. That sets their schedule back, and by the time Tanith is finished with the last model she’s running horribly late. Once she’s packed everything away it’s almost half past five, nearly an hour later than she wanted to leave, and she swears under her breath as she starts locking up the studio.

“Oi,” Sera says, taking the keys from her hand. “I’ll do that.”

“Really? You don’t have to.”

“It’s a favour, yeah? Go home.”

Tanith sighs with relief, pulls Sera into a hug that she protests about loudly. “Thank you.”

“Get _off_. Have fun on your date.”

“It’s not a date,” Tanith says, grabbing her bag and half-running towards the door. “It’s not a date!”

“Whatever!” Sera yells after her.

* * *

Tanith runs into the supermarket on the way home to buy a few things that she needs for dinner, then half-sprints back to her apartment. By the time she gets up to the second floor she’s a sweaty disgusting mess, feeling about as far from sexy as it’s possible to be. She runs a bath while she puts her groceries away, checking the time every two minutes and swearing under her breath. Blackwall isn’t due to arrive for almost two hours but the _ritual_ of getting ready is so important to her, especially with a new partner. It takes time for her to settle into her role, to ease out of her everyday life and into a place where she feels confident enough to take control.

She tries to relax a little while she’s soaking in the tub, knowing that there’s no real need to rush but feeling edgy nonetheless. Some of it is nerves, she knows. Her vanilla friends are always surprised to find out that she can get nervous before hookups the same as anyone else, assuming, Tanith guesses, that as soon as she steps into her bedroom she becomes some kind of perverted ice queen. But she’s as prone to jitters as the next person, especially in this context. Having someone put their safety in her hands, trusting her with their wellbeing, that’s not something that she takes lightly. She wants to make sure that she does a good job, that she doesn’t fuck up and hurt someone by mistake. Sure, her worries are a little different to most people’s, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.

It’s still playing on her mind when she pulls the plug out of the bath and goes to the mirror to fix her hair. Knowing it’ll calm her down, she puts her phone on speaker and calls Bull. He’s the only one of her friends — apart from Sera, now — who knows about her plans tonight. It’s good to have someone in her life with the same dominant tendencies that she has, to talk about this stuff with and not feel weird about it. She’s combing product through her curls when he picks up.

“Hey,” Tanith says. “Can you talk?”

“Sure,” he says. “Isn’t your guy supposed to be there soon?”

“In like an hour.” She winces as the comb hits a tangle, teases it out. “That’s why I’m calling, actually.”

“Ah. Getting the fear?”

Bull always understands this stuff. “Yeah.”

“Okay, lay it out for me. Where’s your head at?”

“It’s nothing much,” she sighs. “I’m just pretty sure he’s a first-timer. Or new to it, at least. He’s not said it but you can tell, you know?”

“That’s always tough,” he says. “But you’ve talked about it right? He knows what he’s signing up for?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And you’ve got your safewords, all that shit?”

“We have.” Tanith had made sure that they had that conversation yesterday, liking to have all those details taken care of before the meet itself.

“So there you go. You’re fine,” Bull says. “Listen, T. You’re not one of those assholes on a power trip who give us all a bad name. If I thought there was any chance of you being irresponsible or screwing up I’d tell you. You know that.”

Tanith feels better already. Bull doesn’t mince his words, and if he says that she’s alright then she believes him. “I know. Thank you.”

“Good. Now, go get sexy. We can debrief tomorrow.”

“Love you.” She hangs up, feeling about a million times more confident.

The next hour is much more relaxing. Tanith puts on some music and takes her time doing her makeup, actually ahead of schedule now. It’s still incredibly warm and she sits in her underwear as she carefully applies mascara to her lashes. She’s picked out one of her nicest sets for the evening, cream silk with black scalloped lace at the edges. Depending on how things go he might not even be permitted to see her in it, but she’s erring on the side of caution. Picking her clothes takes longer. She wants to look hot, of course, but casual too, and not entirely accessible. Eventually she selects a pair of black jeans that cling to her generous hips, and a simple white shirt that’s loose enough to leave plenty of the imagination. After some consideration she undoes a few of the buttons, leaving just the slightest tease of her bra exposed. There has to be something there to deny him, after all.

A few minutes later her phone buzzes. _On my way._

Tanith smiles to herself. Who even talks like that any more? It’s kind of endearing, how old-fashioned he can be sometimes. _see you soon_ , she replies.

While she waits for Blackwall to arrive she makes a start on dinner, thinly slicing shallots in the tiny kitchen corner of her open-plan living area. It’s still warm and light outside so she has left the balcony doors open, letting a breeze into the room. Between Bull’s pep talk, the music she has playing, and how good she knows she looks, Tanith is slipping into just the right headspace. She wants to be in control tonight. She’s ready to be in control.

A few minutes later there’s a knock at the door, and she quickly washes the onion-smell off her hands before going to answer it. Blackwall has clearly made an effort for the evening — not preened and coiffed by any means, thank God, but the shirt he’s wearing has a ‘best thing in the wardrobe’ look to it and she thinks he might have neatened his beard up a little. Both times that she’s met him before now she’s been in heels, and the difference in height between them is far more noticeable now that she’s barefoot. He’s holding flowers too, irises, and he presses them into her hand when she opens the door.

Tanith stares at them for a moment, too surprised to respond straight away. “Are these for me?” She frowns at herself. “Stupid question. Thank you.”

Some of her earlier nerves creep back as she steps aside to let him in. _Are these for me?_ What a dumb thing to say. Blackwall keeps a respectful distance as he walks inside, doesn’t try to kiss her. He’s either overcorrecting, thinking that he can’t do _anything_ without her permission, or he simply hasn’t decided whether he wants to yet. Either way, she’s not pushing.

“Red okay?” she asks, taking a bottle down from the rack. “Dinner won’t be long.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” Poor guy couldn’t look more terrified if he tried. He wanders around the room while Tanith returns to the kitchen, looking at the photos on the walls.

“I know this place,” he says, pointing to one of the framed pictures. “Is that the Italian restaurant near the library?”

“That’s the one,” she says. “I did the interior shots when they reopened last summer.”

“I did the restoration on it. Some of my better work, I think.”

“Really?” Tanith is genuinely impressed. Rossi’s was a dump before the refurbishment but gorgeous by the time it opened back up, all exposed brick and parquet flooring. It was one of the reasons she had kept that photo. “I love it there. You been in the business long?”

Blackwall tips his head to one side, thinking. “Must be twenty years now, more or less. God, that makes me feel old.”

“Try _experienced_ ,” she smiles. “It sounds better.”

“Do you want a hand with that?” he says, nodding to the ingredients laid out on the countertop.

“I’m good,” she says. “Bit of a control freak in the kitchen.”

“Just the kitchen?” The slightest raise of his eyebrows.

She laughs. “Yeah, alright. Bit of a control freak in most rooms.”

The ice broken, Tanith gets on with cooking. She’s making penne alla vodka, the simplest thing she could think of that still feels a little fancy. Making something more elaborate this early on seems slightly too intense, and she doesn’t want to waste half her evening clattering about in the kitchen. She has other, better things to do.

They talk while Tanith salts water and folds cream into the sauce, Blackwall sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter. Their conversation this past week has been constant but shallow, and the two of them still know relatively little about one another. Tanith learns that Blackwall has lived here for most of his life, that he owns a house just outside of the city limits, and that he shares her affection for flea markets. It’s not a deep conversation, but it’s nice, she thinks, making small talk with this man. He isn’t overbearing, listens intently when she speaks. It’s foreplay, all of it, even this innocuous exchange. Tanith watches him when he’s not looking, taking him in. The evening light picks out the lines around his eyes, the scars across his knuckles. He is almost painfully handsome— or he is to her, at least. She feels a little prickle of anticipation at the back of her neck.

“How about you?” Blackwall asks later, while Tanith is plating up. “How did you get into photography?”

“It was always a thing,” she says. “My folks got me an old camera when I was a kid and I never put it down after that. Went to art school, worked a bunch of crappy jobs, eventually started making enough from freelance work to rent the studio.” She puts the dishes down on the counter and pulls up the stool next to him. As she sits down she lets her thigh brush his, just for a moment, and smiles at the sudden stiffness in his posture.

“Are your parents still around?” he asks once he’s composed himself.

Tanith wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, though they’re miles away. Me and my family aren’t that close. They’re not bad people, just… traditional.” She spears a piece of pasta with her fork and lifts it carefully to her mouth, reflecting on what a stupid choice it was to wear white.

“You’ve clearly done well for yourself though.”

She half-shrugs. “I suppose I have. I love my job, I love my apartment, I love my friends. It’s a pretty good life.”

“That’s all that matters, isn’t it? That you’re happy.”

“Absolutely.”

“This is delicious, by the way.”

When they finish eating Tanith puts the dishes in the sink and they take their wine glasses over to the couch. Neither of them are drinking very much, despite the nerves. What they’re planning — what they’ve been carefully negotiating over the previous few days — requires a clear head. Tanith is especially conscious of the need to keep herself sharp, to not have anything clouding her thoughts for the night ahead. So she puts her glass down on the coffee table and turns to him instead, tucking her feet up under herself and resting her arm across the back of the cushions. Her fingertips are so close to him that they’re almost touching. She knows that he’ll be acutely aware of the proximity, will want to close that gap more than anything in the world. But he won’t. Not if he knows what’s good for him.

“I didn’t think you were going to call,” she says. “You took your time.”

His cheeks colour a little and her heart just _sings_. Tanith has always been a sucker for a man who blushes. “You know,” he says. “Didn’t want to come on too strong.”

“Of course,” Tanith nods, suppressing a laugh. “Because I was so restrained and puritanical.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “It’s possible it might have taken me a while to work up the courage. Does that sound more believable?”

“Much.” Tanith runs her finger lightly over his forearm. “Are you afraid of me?”

He meets her eyes, glances down again. This is the first of the many things she’ll take note of over the course of the night. He doesn’t like to look at her for too long, struggles to maintain eye contact when things turn intimate. That’s something to work on. Something to play with.

“Should I be afraid of you?”

“No.” Tanith takes the glass from his hand and places it down next to hers. “Not if you behave.”

She straddles his hips and kisses him before he knows what’s happening, earning a low noise of surprise that makes her smile against his lips. The way they touch each other is almost teenage, half-lying on the couch, her fingers twined in his hair, his body heavy against hers, neither one of them coming up for air. When Blackwall’s hands move up under her shirt she tightens her grip on his hair and tugs backwards, pulling him sharply away from her.

“Excuse me.” She wipes her mouth on her sleeve. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I’m sorry.”

For a long moment she just looks at him. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes half-closed. Tanith takes in the little details of him; the sun-browned skin of his neck, the old break at the bridge of his nose, the creases along his forehead. She spreads her knees a little, increasing the pressure on his growing hardness. What people don’t realise about what she does is that it requires as much self-control from her as it does from her partner; she denies her own urges too, for the sake of greater pleasure later.

“Come with me,” she says.

Tanith leads him by the hand to her bedroom. There’s an antique Queen Anne chair by her dressing table — a paycheck’s worth of furniture and her pride and joy — and she settles into it, crossing one leg over the other.

“Stop,” she says before he gets any closer. “Right there.”

Blackwall stops in his tracks a few feet away, looking down at her as she leans back into the cushions.

Tanith looks him up and down. “Off,” she says. “All of it.”

Some men, in this position, will rush to get undressed. They’ll tear their clothes off like they are on fire, desperate to get to the next part, desperate for release. Blackwall doesn’t do that. He takes his time, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, hands shaking just a little. He knows that she wants to indulge in this, and so he indulges her. It’s a mark in his favour, and she adds it to the tally always running at the back of her mind. Tanith scrutinises every part of him as it’s revealed, keeping her face deliberately passive despite her growing arousal. Christ, but he’s everything she likes; broad and rough and thick, that precise kind of overt masculinity that makes his submission all the sweeter.

When he’s finally naked he stands unmoving in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back. She makes him wait for a minute, two, three, her face giving nothing away. Tanith is a nightmare to play poker with. Eventually she sighs, as if she were bored and curls a finger towards herself.

“Closer.”

He has only taken a few steps forward when she holds out a hand, signalling for him to stop.

“On your knees.”

No hesitation at all. His shoulders slouch forward a little as he kneels in front of her, his head bowed. Tanith places the ball of her foot in the middle of his chest and pushes backwards, forcing him to sit up straight. Forcing him to look at her. She can feel the rapid beating of his heart.

“Tell me what you want,” she says.

The reply doesn’t come immediately. Vocalising his desires makes him uncomfortable — something else for the list. When he finally speaks his voice is a low rumble that sends shivers through her. “To please you,” he says. “To serve you.”

“No,” Tanith says, pushing a little harder into his breastbone. “That’s what _I_ want. I’m asking what _you_ want.”

He opens his mouth but says nothing, swallows hard.

She makes her voice gentle. “This isn’t a trick question,” she says. “I want to know. If I’m going to make you work, you need something to work for. So, tell me what. What’s the one thing you want more than anything?”

Blackwall takes a deep breath before speaking. “To taste you.”

“Not specific enough. Try again.”

“To taste your cunt.”

Tanith hopes beyond hope that the heat rising in her throat isn’t obvious. “Better.” She puts her foot back on the floor and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “And what are you willing to do to earn that?”

“Anything.” They always say that. They rarely mean it.

She slips one hand under the waistband of her jeans, under the silk of her underwear, dips her fingers into the wetness pooling there. She brings her slick fingers out and passes them in front of him, laughs at the unconscious movement of his body towards her. Then she puts her fingers between her lips and sucks them clean.

“Oh, my darling,” she says. “It will never, ever be that simple.”

Tanith reaches over to her vanity table, turns the key in the top drawer, pulls it open. The circle of leather she removes from it is new, a little gift to herself earlier that week. She holds it in one hand, looks straight into those pale eyes.

“Once this is on there’s no going back,” she says. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I am.” The answer comes so quick and breathless that Tanith doesn’t doubt he means it. She bends forward and puts the collar around his neck, holding two fingers between his flesh and the leather as she fastens the buckle, making sure it’s not too tight. There’s a metal ring set into the front and she hooks a finger through it, pulls him forward to kiss her.

“What am I going to do with you?” she says, stroking the line of his jaw. “Wait there.”

She stands up and walks around the room, weighing up her options. Eventually she stops at the foot of her bed, examining the cast-iron frame with interest.

“Here,” she says, pointing to the carpet in front of it. “Right here.”

When he’s in place she positions him on his knees, moves his hands to the iron railings. Leaning like that will be relatively comfortable — at first. Before long his arms will start to burn, the muscles at the back of his thighs will ache. Keeping his grip on the bedframe will become more and more difficult as his palms sweat and his hands shake. It’s perfect.

Tanith kneels beside him, running her fingers feather-light over his skin. She strokes down his spine, over his stomach, along the back of his legs. Every time his breath hitches she takes a little mental note, cataloguing every little spot that’s especially sensitive to her touch. The way she caresses him is so gentle, so slow, that when she brings the flat of her hand down hard against his ass Blackwall gasps in shock. Before he can recover she has done it twice more, the short sharp _crack_ of her palm against his flesh almost echoing around the room. Then, when his muscles are tight in expectation of the next blow, she’s back to delicate again, ghosting her fingers over reddening skin. That’s the pattern; the juxtaposition of pain and pleasure, that building uncertainty that will leave him constantly doubting whether the next touch will be soft of sharp.

It’s impossible to get the right leverage from this angle so she gets up and stands behind him, admiring the outline of her fingers already blossoming on his flesh. Two hard cracks, then almost a full minute of no contact at all, then three more. Tanith can see his shoulders convulsing when her hand makes contact with his ass. Blackwall is not a weak man. She can imagine him taking a punch with very little fuss. But this pain, the unpredictable, sudden sting of a lover’s hand, that’s something else entirely. She works on him a while longer, her own ardour growing every time he cries out.

When there’s a sheen of sweat on his back and his knuckles are white where he grips the bedframe Tanith sits down on the floor behind him. She reaches one hand between his legs and strokes the length of his cock, gratified to find him rock-hard.

“You like this, don’t you?” she says, moving back before he can have even the slightest satisfaction from her touch. “You like being on your knees for me.”

He nods, head hanging low over his chest. Tanith recognises the signs. Blackwall is slipping into a state of mind that’s more willing, more pliable. The arousal and tension and pain will be flooding his body with hormones, breaking down his pain threshold and leaving him even more open to her influence. She has to be very careful now. This is the time to push him further, test his limits, but also to be vigilant. If she's not careful she could seriously hurt him without either of them realising it, and then he would crash down from that high more violently than he could handle. Tanith doesn't want that. She wants to hold him on the edge of _too much_ and _just enough_ , keep him there as long as she's able.

So she gives him a minute to breathe while she returns to the drawer of her vanity, selects a long-handled riding crop with a wicked loop of leather on the end. The length of it gives her more traction, allows her to deliver more pain than her hands alone. When she walks back to him she runs the tip of the crop along the notches of his spine, enjoying the way he shudders.

"Can you take a little more?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain."

"Yes."

"Hmm." She tests a blow at nothing, the crop whistling a little as it cuts through the air. "We'll see."

When she turns and whips it hard against the back of his thighs he cries out more sharply than he has all night, swearing as he curls away from the pain. Tanith laughs, running her fingers over the welt already rising.

“Are you _sure_ you can take it?”

He speaks through gritted teeth. “Yes.”

“Alright then.”

It’s a blur then, for a while, every blow and touch and moan blending into one another. By the time Tanith pauses for a breather an hour could have passed, or fifteen minutes, or a year. Blackwall’s ass and thighs are striped in red, his muscles straining where he struggles to keep a hold of the bedframe. A quick glance over him tells her that’s enough for now, that any more would cross the line into cruelty.

“Hey.” She kneels beside him, helps him back into a sitting position. “Come here, come on.” Tanith leads him to the bed, where he half-collapses onto the mattress. He’s breathing hard, chest flushed and slick with sweat. She leaves him for a moment and steps into the en-suite bathroom, comes back with a hand towel soaked in cold water. He sighs when she unbuckles the collar and presses the cool fabric to the back of his neck, eyes falling closed with relief.

“You did so good,” she says, kissing his cheek. “You were so good for me.”

Blackwall says nothing, just leans into her.

“How are you feeling?” she asks. “Do you want some space?”

In answer to that he puts her arm around her waist, pulls her to him.

“Okay,” she says. “Come up here.” Tanith gets onto the bed properly and leans back against the pillows, lets him rest his head on her chest. She holds him there for a long time, close enough to comfort, not close enough to suffocate. Only when she’s sure that he’s level again does she move to lay next to him, reaching between them to stroke his cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, burying his face in her neck.

“I know,” she says. She keeps her grip firm, caressing the length of him as she kisses the top of his head. “Do you want to cum?”

“Please. Please, Tanith.”

“There’s just one thing.” She shifts away so she’s looking at his face. “You told me earlier that what you wanted more than anything was to taste me. You can’t have both.”

Blackwall couldn’t look more devastated. Tanith has to keep from laughing, it’s all just too gorgeous.

“Darling,” she says. “I’m sorry, but it’s not just that easy. There’s no right answer, I promise. You won’t be punished for choosing wrong. But you _do_ have to choose.”

“If you keep touching me like that there won’t be much of a choice.” He swallows hard. “I told you what I wanted. I meant it.”

She takes her hand off his cock the moment he says it. “Well then,” she smiles. “Show me how much you mean it.”

Exhausted and aching and spent as he is, Blackwall doesn’t waste any time. He half-tears her clothes off her, mouth at her throat, his hands exploring every inch of her skin as it’s exposed. Tanith lays back, arms folded behind her head, humming with pleasure as he lavishes her with a night’s worth of pent-up arousal. He flicks her nipples with his tongue, kisses down the soft curve of her stomach, presses his fingers to her hips. In the little part of her mind not totally taken over by lust Tanith notes how good he is at this, his ministrations not rushed or clumsy despite all she’s put him through. He really _is_ focused on her pleasure, truly and entirely.

And then his mouth is on her cunt and she loses her grip on that last bit of sanity. His tongue is sure and warm and eager, lapping at her clit while his fingers slip inside her, and oh, he meant it, he really meant it when he said he wanted to taste her, it’s there in the noises coming from his throat and the heat of his lips and the firm curling of his fingers, and suddenly Tanith, always in control, always in charge, is on the verge of losing herself entirely.

She cums _hard_ , clawing at Blackwall’s scalp as he takes her over the edge, toes curling as she bucks and shakes beneath him. It seems to last an inordinately long time, and when it’s finally over she has to fight to catch her breath.

“Jesus,” she says. “Wow. Okay. How did you get so good at that?”

“How do you get to Carnegie Hall?”

Tanith bursts out laughing, the stupid, helpless laughter unique to someone who has very recently experienced a mind-blowing orgasm. She pulls him down next to her, nuzzles into his chest. The pressure of his erection against her stomach is too obvious to ignore.

“Sure you made the right choice?”

“Certain.” He kisses her, and she tastes herself on his lips.

“And what if I asked you to save yourself for the next time I see you?”

He whistles out a breath. “Well. How long is that going to be?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, smiling sweetly. “You’d be doing it because I asked. I don’t often ask nicely.”

“In that case… I suppose I could make the effort.”

“Right answer.” Tanith leans in to kiss him again. This is fun, he’s fun, it’s fun being here with him. She wants to do it again. And again, and again, and again. “This is never going to be easy for you, darling,” she says. “But I promise it’ll always be worth it.”


	3. Longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [Kerli - Sugar](https://open.spotify.com/track/7oIEwpnC3e8w8PhiyWY5Xk)   
>  [Childish Gambino - Redbone](https://open.spotify.com/track/0wXuerDYiBnERgIpbb3JBR)   
>  [Carly Rae Jepsen - No Drug Like Me](https://open.spotify.com/track/2YTblAt3gfs9F3DGYIv2nK)

“Here you go!” The waitress, almost worryingly perky, puts their plates down in front of them “Enjoy!”

Tanith waits until she’s gone then pokes at her breakfast with a fork. “Bull,” she says, “why are my pancakes blue?”

“Spirulina,” he says.

“Which is?”

“Some kind of algae, I think.”

“Okay, well, that’s disgusting. If I wanted algae I’d go lick the inside of a fishtank.”

“It’s a superfood.” Bull’s own breakfast doesn’t look much more appealing, some protein nightmare that seems to consist almost entirely of soft-boiled eggs and peanut butter.

“Next time we’re going somewhere that does hash browns,” Tanith says.

The cafe is opposite the gym where Bull works for half the week, and it caters almost exclusively to their fitness freak clientele. Tanith has never been the biggest fan of the place but coming here means she can grab brunch with her friend before his shift, so dealing with blue pancakes and bulletproof coffee is a small price to pay. She takes a tentative bite of her breakfast and is surprised to discover that it isn’t completely inedible.

“So,” Bull says. “It’s round two tonight, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Round three, actually.” He points at her with his fork. “You’re still not off the hook for that, by the way. I have to clean that bar. I don’t come to your studio and screw in the bathrooms.”

“You literally did that at the Christmas party last year.”

Bull shrugs. “Fair point. Call it even, then.”

“Deal.”

“So, you got anything juicy planned?”

“Maybe.” Tanith has been shopping that morning, and the bag is sitting on the floor next to her. She pushes it towards him with the toe of her shoe.

Bull bends down to examine its contents, chuckles. “Oh man. You have got plans. He know this is coming?”

“Of course. We talked about it a few days ago.”

“And he’s keen?”

Tanith sucks her teeth. “Uh, yeah. You could say that. Just a little.”

“Atta boy.” Bull looks at her more closely, eyes narrowing. “Hang on. I know that look. What have you done?”

“Nothing.” Tanith does her best to look innocent.

“Give over. Tell me.”

“Well… I may have ah, left him hanging. May have kept him hanging, too.”

“Oof. How long has that been now?”

Tanith winces. “Nearly two weeks.”

“Holy shit, T.” Bull gapes at her. “With a newbie? You trying to kill the guy?”

“It wasn’t meant to be this long,” she says, burying her face in her hands. “I thought I was free on Friday but we had a last minute booking come in. And I’d said it then so, you know. Couldn’t really go ‘actually don’t worry about it, do whatever you want’. I’m trying to set a precedent here.”

“Hell of a precedent.”

Tanith points forcefully at the bag. “I’m compensating!”

“I’ll give you that one,” he says.

“Anyway.” She takes another mouthful. “How about you? Any interesting prospects?”

The two of them gossip until Bull has to leave for work, bitching about their respective jobs and making plans for the following weekend. It’s Tanith’s turn to pick up the bill, and once she’s paid she heads over to the studio. There’s no shoots on today and so she spends a few boring hours catching up with admin — responding to emails, chasing invoices, updating their social media. Tanith should really hire someone to do all this but she’s stubborn, reluctant to explain her system of working to someone new. It’s almost unbearably hot in the poky windowless office, even with the fan blasting a few inches away from her face, and at three o’clock she decides to head home early.

She walks the half hour back to her apartment, which she does as often as she’s able. Walking gives her time to think. With her headphones in and the gentle buzz of the city afternoon around her she can get her thoughts in order, make mental lists of things she needs for the next day and figure out solutions to any problems she’s having at work. Today, though, she has trouble concentrating on practicalities. She had been telling Bull the truth — she really hadn’t intended to leave Blackwall waiting so long. Shit, she hadn’t intended to leave _herself_ waiting so long. The restrictions placed on him don’t apply to her, and she’s been getting herself off twice a day thinking about the next time they’ll see each other. She’s let him know it too, sending photos of her hand slipping under her jeans, leaving voice notes of her gasping when she cums.

Just because she feels guilty for making him wait that doesn’t mean she’s above making it worse.

When she gets home she takes a book and a pot of coffee out to the balcony, bare feet resting on the iron railing. She adores these little moments of solitude. Growing up in a house as crowded as her family home, with people coming and going every minute of the day, she has come to value her peace and quiet. A few years ago she tried living with her ex for a while, but it didn’t work out. Having someone in _her space_ put her on edge, and within a year they were sick of the sight of each other. A running theme in her relationships.

Eventually Tanith gets up, feeling sleepy and langrous from the sun, and goes to fix herself something for dinner. She’s told Blackwall to eat before he arrives tonight. There won’t be any preamble this time, no hour of chaste chit-chat before they get to the good stuff. He’s waited long enough. So has she.

After she’s eaten Tanith checks the time, realises that she should probably start getting ready. She showers, moisturises, does her hair, lays out the clothes she’s planning to wear. Well, ‘clothes’ might be a little strong. If Tanith has one vice it’s lingerie, though she’s had few enough opportunities to show it off in the last couple of years. There’s a whole drawer in her dresser full of delicate pieces of silk, satin, ribbon, many of them purchased for far too much money and then never worn. The set that she’s selected for this evening falls into that particular category. It’s a matching set, underwear and bustier and garter belt in sheer lace the colour of red wine. She almost puts her back out trying to get the stockings on — despite her love of lingerie, she’s never quite mastered that part — then slips her feet into a pair of high-heeled court shoes that she picked up at a shoot last week. Feeling the evening chill slightly, she finds a short dressing gown of black silk in her wardrobe and shrugs into it.

Tanith spends a good five minutes checking herself out in the mirror, feeling fairly pleased with the result. Unplugging her phone from its charger by the bed, she takes a series of entirely indulgent thirst trap selfies and sends them all to Bull. He replies a few minutes later with twenty seven fire emojis and one umbrella — that one probably an accident — which Tanith takes as a good sign. The two of them have that kind of relationship, where neither one would think twice about sending lewd photos in an entirely platonic manner. They both lean far too heavily toward the dominant end of the spectrum to have any interest in one another, but he’s great for a pep talk or a confidence boost when the need arises.

It’s only ten minutes until Blackwall is due to arrive but it feels like forever. Tanith paces around the apartment, starting to feel vaguely ridiculous in her boudoir get-up, but snaps back into it the moment there’s a knock at the door. She walks over, knowing that he’ll hear her heels approaching across the hardwood floor, pauses for a minute before turning the handle. It gives her a little thrill to imagine him standing on the other side of the door, strung out, nervous, aching from two weeks of denial. Eventually she caves and opens it, stepping back as she does so. She wants him to see all of her.

For a moment he just stands in the doorway, staring at her. The hunger in his eyes, the way his mouth hangs a little open as he looks her up and down, that alone is enough to light a fire in her. It’s as much as she can do to not pounce on him then and there. But she hasn’t made him endure a fortnight of torture just to rush to the finish line now.

“I have neighbours, you know,” she says.

Blackwall shakes his head as if waking up, steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Sorry. God, you look…”

He trails off, and Tanith shrugs. “Look what? Use your words, darling.”

“Exquisite.”

It’s not what she was expecting, and it throws her off balance for a second. She’s used to generic compliments from lovers, rarely delivered with such feeling. Tanith closes the space between them, runs her fingers through his hair, down his neck. “Have you been good for me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you promise?”

“I swear it.”

And, honest to God, she believes him. From a light touch alone she can feel the tension in him, the stiffness of his muscles as he endeavours to contain himself.

“I expect that’s been difficult.” She wraps her arms around his neck, presses the length of her body against his. “Not being satisfied for that long.”

His hands slip under the silk of her dressing gown, caress her waist. “I’d be lying if I said no.”

“I think you’re playing it down,” she says, nipping at his throat. “Tell me how it felt. Tell me how it feels.”

“Awful.” Tanith feels his breath warm against her ear as he speaks. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Touching me. Not touching me.”

“Are you aching?” She trails one hand down his chest, gently cups between his legs. He swears, low and sharp, and even through the layers of fabric she can feel how hard he is. For her. All for her. “Asked and answered.”

Tanith stands on her tiptoes, kisses him slow. It’s a different pace to the last time she saw him, a different atmosphere entirely. Before she was setting the stage, establishing their roles, making sure he knew exactly what was expected of him. He understands now, or is beginning to. Tonight is about him, about showing him what happens when he follows her instructions to the letter. What she does is about control, yes, and punishment too, but it’s also about reward.

So she lets him linger in the kiss, doesn’t reprimand him for his wandering hands, for the way he holds her close against him. It’s a little for his benefit, a little for hers. She only realises then how badly she’s been craving this, how much she has wanted to feel his beard rough against her skin and his body heavy in her arms.

“Wait here,” she says suddenly. “I won’t be long.”

She hasn’t done this quite right, that much is clear now. Tanith tries to look unruffled as she walks into the bedroom and closes the door behind her. She spends a panicked few minutes putting everything she needs in reaching distance of the bed, lighting a frankly ridiculous number of scented candles (why does she have so many fucking candles?), fixing her makeup quickly in the mirror. Once she’s sure the ambience of the room is closer to where she wants it she opens the door, gestures for him to come inside.

Oh, but he’s a quick learner. The moment he steps into the room he stands, arms behind his back, waiting for her instruction. This time she helps him out of his clothes herself, taking great pleasure in the knowledge that every touch, every light brush of her fingertips across his skin, will be its own kind of agony. He is phenomenally hard already, and the moment Tanith takes his cock in her hand he moans, a sound as much of anguish as relief. She doesn’t move, just holds him there, watching him fight the urge to rock his hips against her.

“Remember what we talked about?” she asks.

“Difficult to forget.” He talks like he’s forgotten how to speak, every word an effort.

“Is that still something you want?”

“Yes.”

“Well then,” she says. “Since you’ve been so good.”

Tanith takes her dressing gown off, tosses it over the back of the Queen Anne chair, goes to the vanity to retrieve his collar. Once it’s fastened around his neck she sits on the bed with her back up against the pillows, taps twice on her thigh.

“I want you here first,” she says.

Blackwall frowns a little at that. “Won’t that hurt?”

“I’m sturdier than I look,” Tanith chuckles. “Promise.”

He is significantly bigger than her, he’s right about that. The weight of him as he settles across her lap is significant, but not uncomfortably so. It should be ridiculous, a man like him laid out across her knee like this, yet in reality it’s nothing of the sort. There’s a vulnerability to the position that Tanith finds profoundly compelling, stoking her desire to protect as well as punish. She traces patterns across the skin of his back with her fingertips, making sure he’s relaxed, aware all the time of his erection pressing into her thigh. If she can just draw this out a little longer, if he can just hold on, the better it will be for both of them.

Her hand moves down to his ass and she digs her nails into the flesh there, loving the way that he writhes against her. Then one sharp slap, not hard, just enough to remind him who holds the power here.

“I want you to know what happens when you do as I ask,” she says. “I want you to know what you’re trying to earn.” Two fingers under his collar, Tanith lifts his head a little. “I want you to remember tonight next time I’m whipping you bloody.”

“I will,” he says. “I will.”

“Very good.”

Tanith puts her hands between his thighs and eases his legs apart, just a little. God, but she wishes they had done this sooner. She would have loved to have seen the bruises she left, to watch as they healed. They’ve disappeared in the two weeks since she last saw him, his skin now unmarred once again. Never mind. Tanith has always enjoyed a blank canvas.

She reaches over to the bottle on the nightstand, coats her fingers with lube. When she slides them against his entrance a sound escapes his throat that’s something close to a growl, pushing his hips back against her.

“Careful,” she says, tugging at his hair with her free hand. “You’re not setting the pace here, remember? Settle down.”

As stern as her words are, it’s mostly posturing. Secretly she loves how desperate he is, how he can barely stop himself from moving towards her. It makes her feel powerful, needed. Once Blackwall has himself under control Tanith resumes her touches, stroking slow circles, making sure he’s relaxed and ready before she slides a finger inside him.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Tanith.”

She sees the way the muscles in his back contract as he resists the urge to grind against her hand. It’s unspeakably hot. She rewards him with a little more motion, is rewarded herself by the little gasps of pleasure he makes.

“Do you like that, darling?” She tugs gently on his collar. “Do you like being fucked?”

“Christ. Yes.”

“I can tell.” She slips a second finger in with the first, smiles to herself as he arches his back. While he’s distracted she moves her hand away from his neck, cracks it hard against his ass. Blackwall jerks with the shock of it, contracting around her fingers.

“You’re getting better at this,” she says. “Controlling yourself. I might need to push a little harder.” Her hand drifts back up, stroking between his shoulder blades. “Not tonight, though.”

She takes her time working on him, not wanting to move too quickly, waiting until he is loose and supple against her before she shifts position. When he moves off her lap her legs begin to tingle, left weak from the pressure of his body. For a while they simply lay next to one another, kissing deep, touching slow. Excitement coils in Tanith’s stomach at the thought of what comes next, what she has wanted to do to this man from the minute she first saw him.

“I think you’re ready,” she says.

“More than ready.”

“Alright then. Get comfortable.”

The harness had cost a _lot_ of money. The selection in the private shop she went to that morning was uninspiring to say the least, all cheap fabric and plastic fastenings— all apart from one. Real leather, sturdy metal rings, a price tag to match. Tanith hadn’t thought twice before buying it.

She straps it on now, tightening the buckles to her skin, loving the way it feels against the lace she’s wearing. When it’s in place she turns back to him, kneeling between his legs. She wants to take a picture of the look on his face, frame it, hang it on her bedroom wall. Lust and trepidation and total, utter trust. As much as she wants to resist she can’t help but lean forward to kiss him again, pressing her hungry mouth to his.

Tanith breaks away from him, looks into his eyes. “Tell me what you want. Say it.”

Still such an effort to meet her gaze, but he does it. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Again.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

She almost makes him say it a third time, it’s such poetry to her. Instead she leans across to the nightstand for more lube, drips some between his thighs, rubs more along the length of her shaft. Slowly, so slowly, she eases into him, letting him acclimatise to the feeling of it. Blackwall keens and shivers and curses, leaning back into the pillows as Tanith pushes deeper into him. This might be the most beautiful she’s seen him, legs spread and sweating on top of her sheets, desperate and frustrated and entirely compliant.

After a few minutes of gentle rocking he has taken almost the entire length of it, and Tanith purrs with satisfaction as she braces her hands against thighs.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “You _were_ ready.”

“I’m an honest man.”

“Clearly. Let’s see if you’re ready for a little more, shall we?”

The movement of Tanith’s hips is harder now, more decisive, and as she picks up the pace her heart beats faster in her chest. Blackwall is making enough noise to wake her neighbours, entirely shameless in his enjoyment of it. There’s a register to his voice she hasn’t heard before, a little higher, fraught with longing. His passion stirs hers, urges her on, and she becomes painfully aware of the heat building between her own thighs. Could she stand two weeks of that? Tanith knows she couldn’t. She is in awe of the self-control he has or, more likely, has forced himself to have for her.

As she fucks him she tells him how good he’s been, how willing, how much he deserves this. She means every word. Her hand finds his and their fingers entwine, as much for closeness as support. Then he looks up at her, meeting her eyes of his own volition for what might be the first time, and Tanith decides that he’s waited long enough. She strokes his cock in time with the rhythm of her hips, firm and steady, marvelling at how hard he is.

It doesn’t take long for her to bring him over the edge. She grips his hand tight as he spills himself on her fingers, his stomach, calling her name, trembling, _perfect_. Once he has fallen still Tanith remains where she is for a long moment, just watching him in the afterglow, then carefully shifts backwards.

Once she has removed the harness and wiped the sweat from her forehead she comes to lie beside him. When she kisses him she hopes it will convey the pride she feels, the affection she knows her words will not do justice to.

“Better?” she asks, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

He’s a little dazed still, his head resting against her arm. “You could say that.”

“How do you feel?”

“Starving.”

Tanith laughs. “Me too, now that you mention it. Do you want to order pizza or something?”

Once they’ve caught their breath they do exactly that. Tanith feels stupid getting takeout dressed like a lingerie model so she changes while Blackwall is in the bathroom, swapping the impractical lace and stockings for something a little more comfortable. She spots his shirt lying where he left it on the floor and picks it up, holds it to her face to inhale the scent of it, puts it on. It’s comically large on her, and she has to roll up the sleeves so they don’t hang down over her hands.

When Blackwall returns she’s sitting cross-legged on the bed scrolling through her phone. The looks he gives her is curious; almost sad.

“Hey,” she says, plucking at the shirt. “This is mine now, by the way.”

“I’m fairly sure that you’re not supposed to use your influence to steal things from me.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, kisses her without waiting for permission. “But you can have it.”

“Thank you.”

The doorbell buzzes then, and Tanith gets up to fetch their food. They eat in the living room, sprawled out on the couch with the pizza boxes on the floor beside them. It’s strange how _normal_ it all feels, after the intensity of what passed between them less than an hour before. But it does feel normal. They eat garlic bread and talk about work and lean against each other like it was nothing. Which, Tanith supposes, it is. People do this all the time. Just not her.

Later that night, when her legs are trembling from her third orgasm and the candles have burned to nothing, she wonders why she feels so unsettled. She takes that thought, locks it up, throws the key away. Some things aren’t worth thinking about. Instead she turns to him, kisses him hard, pins his wrists above his head.

“So,” she says. “Ready to go again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going feral on Twitter at @elfthirst


	4. Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [Kali Uchis - After The Storm](https://open.spotify.com/track/1otG6j1WHNvl9WgXLWkHTo)   
>  [Doja Cat - Rules](https://open.spotify.com/track/1TMWcbxL5YF8rKsFHv5hAP)   
>  [Jorja Smith - Be Honest](https://open.spotify.com/track/5pAbCxt9e3f81lOmjIXwzd)

That was it. Tanith Lavellan was never, ever working a wedding again.

She had only agreed to do it as a favour for a family friend, knowing that her folks would be on her back if she said no. So she had dragged herself out of bed on a Saturday morning and taken the bus to the ass end of nowhere, had eventually managed to find the barn conversion where the event was taking place. Sera and Dagna were away for the weekend so Tanith had come alone, carrying all her own gear. When she had arrived no one seemed to know who was in charge, and the mother of the bride had yelled at her for being late even though she was half an hour early. None of the guests would listen to her when she tried to call for portraits, everyone was screaming drunk by four in the afternoon, and no one had been willing to take responsibility for the deposit. Despite this they won’t let her leave until it’s dark out, and — to put the cherry on the cake — as Tanith is walking to the bus stop the summer storm that has been threatening all week finally breaks.

The rain is torrential, gathering in pools in the gutters along the road within minutes. Tanith runs the rest of the way to the bus stop, sheltering her equipment bag inside her jacket. She huddles under the tiny plastic awning, watching the LED timetable as one bus is cancelled, then two, then three. Swearing, she fumbles her phone out of her pocket and wipes it on the small patch of her shirt that isn’t soaked through. Uber tells her it is ‘searching for a driver’ for over ten minutes, then crashes. Tanith tries it twice more with no luck. She kicks the bus stop, doing more damage to her own foot than anything else.

_ Right. Okay. Think, think. _

Tanith scrolls through the contacts on her phone, trying to work out who would drive out to the sticks on a Saturday night in the middle of storm just to pick her up. Sera’s on her dirty weekend so she’s out, and Bull will be working the late shift at the Lounge. Varric doesn’t drive, Dorian won’t be sober, Morrigan will either screen her call or ignore her entirely.

Tanith quietly bangs her head against the shelter wall as she realises the one option she has left. Really, truly, this is shaping up to be the worst day in the world. She finds his number in her contacts list, presses the call button before she chickens out.

Blackwall doesn’t take long to pick up. “Hi.” He sounds surprised, as he would. Tanith has never called him out of the blue before.

“Hey,” she says. “Listen, I was hoping you’d do me a favour. Not the hot kind. The regular kind. I’m in a bit of a bind here.”

“What do you need?”

She tells him the saga of her terrible day, trying to keep it as brief as possible though all she wants to do is rant down the phone. The part of her that isn’t soaked to the skin and miserable almost hopes he’ll say no, he can’t, he’s busy, his car’s in the shop. Tanith  _ hates _ asking for his help like this. That’s not how this is supposed to be.

But, of course, he doesn’t say no. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll be half an hour. Can you go back to the wedding, at least? Stay warm for a while?”

“I’d rather freeze to death,” Tanith says, almost meaning it. “Can you bring a towel?”

“Of course. On my way.”

She hangs up, relieved and wretched. All she wants to do is go home and lay in the bath until she can feel her toes again. Folding her jacket up into a makeshift cushion, she sits on the floor with her back against the shelter and waits.

It’s  _ still _ raining when Blackwall pulls up, one of those violent summer storms that seem to eject a month’s worth of rain in a few hours. She dashes over to the passenger door and swings it open, hauls herself inside.

“Oh my God,” she says. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It’s no trouble.” Blackwall reaches over to the backseat and hands her a stack of towels, clean and neatly folded.

“My fucking hero.” She smiles at him, grateful and guilty.

After she’s twisted one of the towels around her sodden curls the first thing Tanith does is check her equipment. Thankfully none of the rain has penetrated her camera case, and everything still seems to be in working order. A bit of luck at last.

Tanith is aware that she’s dripping rainwater over the upholstery of Blackwall’s car. It’s nothing fancy, just an old pickup, but she feels bad considering he’s driven all this way to fetch her. She takes the rest of the towels under her arm and clambers into the backseat, pulls her soaking shirt over her head.

“You can go,” she says. “I need to get myself sorted out. Jesus, it was eighty degrees this afternoon. Never occurred to me to bring an umbrella.”

“I don’t think it’s going to stop any time soon.” Blackwall checks the road and pulls out, his arm round the back of the passenger seat. “It’s long overdue.”

“Yeah, but couldn’t it have just been a  _ little  _ bit more overdue?” 

Tanith strips down to her underwear, lays it out on the seat beside her in the hopes it’ll dry out just a little during the drive. The truck has heating, at least, on full-blast for her benefit. To his credit Blackwall keeps his eyes on the road, not using her misfortune as an opportunity for an impromptu peep show.

When she wipes her face dry the towel comes away stained black with eyeliner. Tanith scowls, knowing that she must look an absolute state. Nothing about this is right. When she and Blackwall see each other the environment is supposed to be controlled — specifically, with her controlling it. He isn’t supposed to see her like this, pissed off and bedraggled and needing help. It fouls her mood further, knowing that from now on he’ll always be the woman he had to come and rescue. Not good for her image. Not good for anything.

Once she’s halfway to dry she wraps a towel around herself and climbs back into the front seat.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much, yeah,” she says. Then, belatedly, “thank you.”

The rain is still beating down against the windscreen. Blackwall drives slowly down the country roads, being careful on the corners, and all the while the storm drums out a tattoo on the roof of the truck.

They have seen each other maybe half a dozen times now. Always at her place, always when her schedule allows it. Over the past couple of months they have started building something, a dynamic built on trust, on consistency, on rules. Tanith is out of her comfort zone now, and it’s making her toes curl. She watches Blackwall out of the corner of her eye as he drives. It’s strange to see him so collected, not desperate or flinching or begging her to touch him. Right now he’s just a regular guy, giving a friend a ride home. His hair is a little damp from the rain, his shirt open at the collar. The ink across his arms, birds and flowers and insects. She knows the lines of them off by heart, has traced them with her fingers while his wrists are cuffed to her bedframe. Not once has she asked him what they mean.

“I was caught in a storm like this once,” he says suddenly.

“Oh? What happened?”

“Must be fifteen years ago now.” Blackwall reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “I was camping out near some lake, can’t even remember which one. I’d hitchhiked the whole way there, didn’t have anything on me but my gear. Walked a few more miles to the lake, pitched my tent, then it starts pissing it down with rain.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t. The tent fell down, everything I had was soaked through, nearly broke my neck slipping down a ditch. Spent the night freezing my balls off under a tree.”

“Quite the woodsman,” Tanith says.

Blackwall pulls a face. “Hardly. When the rain cleared up in the morning I walked back to the road to try and get another lift. Found a hotel half a mile from where I’d been sitting.”

She snorts with laughter. “Yeah, okay,” she says. “That makes me feel a bit better. This might come as a shock to you, but I’m not exactly the camping type.”

“I did guess that, actually.”

Tanith looks down at her lap. “You must think I’m very shallow.”

“What?” He looks over at her, frowning. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I’m a creature comforts kind of girl, is all. I like bubble baths and martinis and shoes that cost more than my rent.”

“Do you think any of that matters to me?” He seems almost offended at the suggestion that he would.

“Maybe. We’re very different people.”

“Are we?”

That gives Tanith pause. Are they? She doesn’t know anything about him, not really. They talk, sure, when they’re not fucking, but never about anything real, anything deep.

They drive in silence for a while. After what feels like forever they turn onto the main highway back to the city, only to find the road completely gridlocked. It’s rare for it to be this busy at this time of night, even with the weather as it is. There are blue lights in the distance, emergency service vehicles of some kind.

“What the hell?” Tanith says. “Is it even moving?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Oh my God.” She leans forward, rests her head on the dashboard. “Can I catch a break, please?”

They sit there for ten minutes, the cars on the parallel road not moving an inch. Eventually Blackwall shakes his head, opens the driver’s side door.

“I’m going to see what’s happening. Wait here.” Like she was going to go anywhere else.

Tanith is cold, damp, exhausted. She’s thinking about the bottle of vodka in her freezer, her bed, the massage setting on her shower. Her back is aching from half an hour sitting on tarmac. She climbs into the back again, moves her clothes onto the floor, lays down across the seats. The hot air blasting from the radiator has fogged up the windows, obscuring her view outside. Tanith closes her eyes, listens to the sound of the rain.

She must have fallen asleep for a second, because suddenly she’s jerking upright as Blackwall gets back into the car. He’s as drenched as she was when he came to get her, his hair slicked to his forehead.

“There’s a tree come down across the road,” he says. “They say it’ll be an hour or more before they can shift it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Tanith has resigned herself to her day of bad luck now, and is mostly just grateful that the tree didn’t fall directly onto them. She hands him a towel, leans her elbow against the front seat. “So. What now?”

“Well, at least we’re not stuck in that.” Blackwall nods to the unmoving line of cars. “We could drive around for a while, try and find somewhere that’s open?”

Tanith knows that this is a completely futile suggestion — they are in the middle of nowhere, and haven’t passed a single building with its lights on — but he’s trying to make her feel better, so she nods anyway. “Sure.”

Blackwall does a U-turn and they head back the way they came, cruising round in circles searching vainly for somewhere they can stop. Predictably, there’s nothing. Fields and cows and hedges. Tanith hates the fucking countryside.

Eventually Blackwall pulls up in the empty parking lot of some anonymous out-of-town outlet store, turns off the engine.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “This hasn’t turned out very well, has it?”

“Look, I’d rather be here than stuck at that bus stop all night. Don’t worry about it.”

She sits up in the backseat, looks at him properly. He’s soaked through, shirt adhering to his body, water gathered in the creases of his skin. This is the longest they have ever spent in each other’s company without touching, a fact that Tanith is suddenly very aware of.

“Come here,” she says, patting the seat beside her. “Keep me company.”

Blackwall gets out of the car, opens the back door, climbs in beside her. She pushes damp strands of hair out of his eyes, runs her hand along his neck. The air inside the truck is warm, close, the clouded windows and the relentless sound of the rain cutting them off from the world. Tanith feels dishevelled, ragged, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he looks at her. Like she was a precious thing.

She moves to straddle his hips, her towel slipping down to her waist as she kisses him. Being pressed against him is soaking her all over again but she finds she doesn’t care, that she’s focused only on having him close to her. His hands are in the damp tangle of her hair, stroking her back, slipping down to grip her thighs. Tanith arches, grinding herself against him, needing more, needing to be anywhere else but in her head.

Before long she has him laid across the backseat, her on top, her hands fumbling at his zipper. This isn’t the time for foreplay or teasing or drawn-out scenes. The way she touches him now is about satisfying a hunger, about purging the poison of the day from her body. She discards the towel entirely, her underwear following. When she settles onto him the sound she makes is a low, primal thing. She parts her knees as much as the confined space will allow, braces one foot on the floor, begins to move against him.

Blackwall seems to think that the usual rules don’t apply here, in this space out of time. He grips her hips as she rides him, guiding her movements if not controlling them. He’s wrong. Even here, even now, she’s in charge. Tanith gropes in the footwell for the scarf she was wearing in her hair earlier that evening, discarded when she towelled off. When she finds it she pushes his wrists back, loops the scarf around them and ties it firmly.

“Don’t be getting any ideas,” she whispers. “You’re mine, remember?”

“Say that again,” he breathes.

Tanith pauses, holding herself still on top of him. It’s not that she doesn’t want to repeat it. It’s that she can’t. Instead she undoes the buttons of his shirt, rakes her nails hard down his chest, wanting to leave her mark on him in any way she can. It’s only something she has felt a scant handful of times, this desire to possess someone, to own them so completely that they become a part of you. Her desire is a selfish thing, and she gives herself over to it entirely.

It’s dark in the back of the truck, the parking lot streetlights providing the only illumination. They are all in shadow, and Tanith’s senses seem to grow keener in response. The friction of his damp clothing against her skin is almost overwhelming, and when she bends down to sink her teeth into his neck she can taste salt there. She puts her fingers in his mouth, feels an ache of arousal in her as he sucks on them. Then she’s trailing them over his lips, down his chin, his throat. Her thumb and middle finger find the soft flesh on either side, pressing gently inwards.

“Is this okay?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says. “Please.”

She moves harder against him, all the while increasing the pressure on his neck. His breath grows laboured, coming in short, shallow gasps as he struggles for air. Tanith holds him there for a moment before letting go. He inhales deeply, chest heaving with relief. The moment he’s recovered her fingers are back at his throat. The pulse there is rapid, racing against her skin, and she listens close to the patterns of his breathing as she rolls her hips against him.

The intimacy of it, the trust he has in her, the way he strains against his ties but doesn’t make a move to stop her; these are the things that drive her own ardour. She moves her free hand between her legs, holding two fingers against her aching clit. Even that light friction is enough to send waves of pleasure through her body, making her legs feel heavy. She increases her pace, fucking herself as she fucks him, still keeping her grip at his throat.

It’s not long before she can feel her orgasm building, and from the sounds he’s making she knows that he’s close too. She’s learning the cues of his body now, knows how to read the language of his desire.

“With me, darling,” she says. “Stay with me.”

They cum together, her hand on his neck, his name on her lips. Blackwall lifts his hips, pushing so deep into her that Tanith feels the world spin for a moment. She lets go of his throat, crushes her mouth to his as the last ripples of pleasure pass through them. Everything is sweat and heat and and the deafening sound of the rain.

Once it’s over they lay there for a while, her head resting against his chest. She likes to hear his heart slow as he drifts down from the high. It reassures her, knowing he’s calm, knowing he feels safe. Eventually Blackwall shifts backwards, the movement forcing her to sit up.

He reaches out, cups her cheek in his hand. “Tanith.”

And suddenly she’s the one who’s panicking. There’s a weight in the way he says her name, a reverence in those two syllables that sets her own heart pounding. The way her muscles stiffen then, it’s an impulse, something she could no sooner control than the weather.

“It must have been at least an hour now, right?” she says, trying to keep her voice light. “We should see if the traffic’s moving.”

He doesn’t argue, and Tanith is glad for the darkness that keeps his expression hidden from her.

When they get back to the highway it’s clear again. They pass the rest of the journey in silence, Tanith resting her forehead against the window. She is so, very tired.

Blackwall turns the engine off when he pulls up outside her building. The rain has almost stopped now, just a light haze in the summer night. Tanith puts the strap of the equipment bag over her shoulder and leans across to kiss him.

“Thank you,” she says. “I owe you.”

He takes his hand in hers, squeezes it lightly. “You don’t owe me anything. Get some rest.”

Tanith climbs out of the passenger side, waves goodbye as he pulls away. As she walks up to her apartment she thinks about how strange it is, how odd that she’s disappointed he didn’t ask to come up, when all the way home she was working out how to say no to him.


	5. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [1nonly - sorry, i like you](https://open.spotify.com/track/4Us7Hw8jDC4t1KLfenilv8)   
>  [SZA - Love Galore](https://open.spotify.com/track/0q75NwOoFiARAVp4EXU4Bs)   
>  [Tyler, The Creator & Kali Uchis - See You Again](https://open.spotify.com/track/7KA4W4McWYRpgf0fWsJZWB)

“Hmm.” Tanith taps the lid of the Sharpie against her chin. “I don’t know what to put. What do you think?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Blackwall has been gagged with her underwear for the last twenty minutes, kneeling on the bed in front of her with his wrists cuffed behind his back. Her teeth have left deep indents in his left shoulder, and the soles of his feet are criss-crossed with welts. It’s been a while since she’s roughed him up this badly. She caught him grasping his cock as he went down on her early this morning, a rare lapse in control, and now he’s facing the consequences.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Tanith says, grinning at the little flicker of challenge in his eyes. “You behave like a slut, you get treated like a slut.” She slaps him round the face, not hard, a blow meant more to degrade than to hurt.

Blackwall looks exhausted, though she’s certain he’s not at his limit just yet. She’s checked in a few times, given him plenty of opportunities to tap out. In fact, she suspects that he may have broken the rules deliberately to provoke her into this. The thought of this is immensely pleasing to her. It’s always fun when a submissive gets confident enough to start acting out, almost daring her to punish them. If Blackwall has a previously undiscovered bratty streak she hopes it’ll make an appearance more often.

“Got it.” Tanith uncaps the pen and writes her name across his chest in large, looping cursive, dotting the i with a heart like she used to when she was a kid. She picks her old Polaroid up from where she left it and lifts the viewfinder to her eye. “Smile.”

The shutter clicks, and a moment later the photo prints. Tanith takes it out, shakes it between her fingertips, then tosses it onto her nightstand with the other pictures she’s taken that morning. A nice little stash, if she does say so herself.

After a little more teasing Tanith is fairly sure that he’s reaching the point of fatigue where this won’t be fun any more. She ungags him and carefully removes the cuffs from his wrists, rubbing at the chafed skin there.

“You okay?” she asks, kissing him on the cheek as he rolls his shoulders out.

“Yes.” He nods to the stack of pictures. “I expect to see those in _Vogue_ any day now.”

Tanith snorts. “I got some good ones actually. Hey, come here.” She moves to sit beside him, turns the camera around so it’s facing them both. “Say cheese.” Flash of the bulb, and once the picture has printed she tosses it with the others.

“What time is it?” she asks, stretching. They both woke up early that morning, and have been playing ever since.

Blackwall checks his phone. “About eleven.”

“God. Were we at it that long? It didn’t feel like it.”

“It did to me.” He stands up, hisses as his welted skin hits the carpet. “ _Ow._ Fuck.”

“You want me to put some antibac on that? It might blister.”

“Later.” Blackwall pulls her to him, kisses her forehead. “I was thinking about driving up to the market on the common this afternoon. Thought you might like to come with me.”

“Oh, no, sorry,” she says. “It’s Varric’s birthday. We’ve got plans.” Tanith wrinkles her nose. “I’m probably running late already. Help yourself to whatever, I won’t be long.” She pulls her dressing gown on, closes the door behind her as she walks into the bathroom.

After the world’s quickest shower she comes back to find the bedroom empty.

“Blackwall?” No response. She walks out into the lounge, but he’s not there either. When she checks her phone there’s a message from him: _Thought I should get out of the way. See you soon._

It’s weird that he would just leave like that, but Tanith doesn’t think too much of it. It’s not like there was a whole lot to be gained from him sticking around to watch her get ready. She pulls on a playsuit and a pair of sneakers, quickly puts a little makeup on and finds a bag large enough to hold all of her stuff. They’re having a barbecue in the park a few blocks over from her house, and she has some food that she picked up at the farmer’s market the day before. She stacks asparagus and portobello mushrooms and artisan halloumi in the bottom of her bag, adds a bottle of wine, her camera, sunblock, Varric’s hastily-wrapped present, then grabs her keys and heads out.

As it happens she’s late anyway, and her friends are mostly all there by the time she arrives. They’ve spread out around one of the old red-brick barbecues you can hire by the hour, lounging about in the late summer sun. Sera and Dagna are already knocking back cans of pre-mixed cocktails, and Tanith spots Dorian in the process of uncorking a bottle of champagne. There are a few faces she half-recognises, friends of Varric’s who she’s probably met at parties once or twice. Bull is there too, along with his numerous roommates, playing some kind of contact sport that looks way too violent for a Sunday afternoon. Despite it being his birthday Varric has taken charge of the grill himself, and he waves a pair of tongs at Tanith as she arrives.

“Hey,” she calls. “Happy birthday!”

“Can you believe it?” He’s wearing an apron with ‘KISS THE COOK’ emblazoned on the front. “Twenty-five again.”

“How many twenty-fifth birthdays have you had now?”

“Too many. Can I get you a drink?”

“Later,” she says. “Skipped breakfast. Do you want a hand with anything?”

“You can stand here and compliment my world-class grilling technique?”

“Consider it done. Oh,” she says, rummaging around in her bag. “I have something for you.” Tanith fishes his present out and hands it over.

When Varric unwraps it he laughs out loud. It’s a photo from the first ever shoot she did for him, years ago now, a candid of Varric and his auto shop team taken for fun once the professional shots were finished. It couldn’t have been long after they opened their first branch, far before Varric made a real name for himself. Tanith had found it while she was clearing out her harddrive, and had it printed and framed last week.

“Jesus,” he says. “We all look so _young_ Thanks, Freckles. I love it.”

Varric seems to have all of the food well in hand, so Tanith goes to spread her blanket out next to Dorian. He’s a fairweather friend, someone she gets on with incredibly well but who she only sees two or three times a year due to his incredible flakiness.

“Hey stranger,” she says. “How have you been?”

“Much the same,” Dorian sighs. “Brilliant and unappreciated. Will you have a drink?” He’s got a picnic hamper with him, an actual wicker one with glasses and crockery and everything.

“It’s too early for champagne.”

“Nonsense. Put a raspberry in it, call it a smoothie.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“You’re just not trying hard enough.”

“Later. How’s work, anyway?” Dorian is a professor at the university campus across town, teaching one of those esoteric sciences that Tanith gets a headache just thinking about.

“Could be worse. Could be substantially better, of course, but no use dwelling. How about you? Still fighting Liebovitz for her crown?”

Tanith laughs. “Give me a couple more years. It’s going okay, actually. Pretty much booked up until Christmas now.”

“I saw some of your recent work,” he says. “Varric bullied me into buying one of his calendars. I think the image of him trussed up in fake fur trim might be burned into my retinas for all eternity.”

“Yeah, that was fun,” she says. “Though it’s hardly going in my portfolio.”

“Also…” Dorian narrows his eyes at her. “Varric inferred that you and one of the models are, ah… intimate.”

God, that man cannot keep his fucking mouth shut. Tanith shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. “I might be.”

“Which one?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, you never tell me _anything._ How am I supposed to insult your tremendously bad choices if I don’t know what they are?”

“Sorry. You’ll just have to deal with it.”

“If I guess will you tell me?”

“Look,” Tanith says, pointing. “I think the food’s ready. Better go!”

The food isn’t _quite_ ready, but she hangs around the barbecue until it is, admonishing Varric for his loose tongue. He apologises, but not with any real gusto. Tanith knows that he thinks she’s too uptight about these things, but she doesn’t see what’s so bad about wanting to keep her private life private. It’s church and state, fire and dynamite, pancakes and spirulina. Some things are best kept separate.

Everyone has brought a dish with them and, as always happens at these events, there’s a highly weird selection and far too much of all of it. They spread the food out on a nearby picnic table, and as Tanith fills her plate she tries to guess who has contributed what. The nicer cuts of meat Varric will have brought himself, not trusting anyone else to bring the good stuff; the devilled eggs and weird purple houmous has Bull written all over it; smoked salmon and pickled walnuts is a Dorian offering, definitely; and there’s a half-empty bag of gummy worms that can only be from Sera. Tanith is starving, going up for a second plate once she’s finished her first, and once she’s sure that her stomach is sufficiently lined she finally allows herself a glass of wine.

It’s been a long, hot summer this year, one of those sprawling seasons that feels like it’s never going to come to an end. Tanith can’t remember what it feels like to wear four layers to keep out the cold, or to wake up and find the city dusted with snow. That’s fine by her. She loves the warmth, loves the slow buzzing of insects and the long evenings, loves lying in the grass and drinking iced coffee and standing in rooftop bars at midnight. It should be relaxing, sitting here surrounded by friends in the sunshine, talking and laughing and taking photos. But there’s something nagging at her. There’s a little voice in the back of her mind that keeps asking _why, why did he leave like that, he’s never done that before._ She tells the voice to shut up, goes to get dessert.

Later that afternoon Sera passes her a joint and she accepts, pulling deep and holding the smoke in for a moment before letting it curl out of her mouth. She doesn’t smoke often these days, but it’s the perfect afternoon for it, and she wants to mellow out a little.

“Alright,” Dagna says. “Boss lady knows how to party.”

“When I want to.” Tanith smiles. “Did you guys have fun on your trip, by the way?”

“Oh, we had _lots_ of fun.” Sera flops down on the blanket next to her girlfriend, nuzzles enthusiastically against her neck. “Left the hotel, like, once?”

Giggling, Dagna takes her hand and kisses it. “Would have been cheaper to stay home.”

“The little soap though!”

They’re kind of high, for sure, but the two of them are always like this. Public displays of affection don’t embarrass them at all, and they’re completely unapologetic about how loved up they are. It’s not a new thing, either. They’ve been together since before Tanith hired Sera, and that must be getting on for three years ago now. What must that _feel_ like, to still be head over heels for someone that far down the line? Tanith’s longest relationship lasted just shy of two years, and had been functionally over for months by the time they actually broke things off. She can’t imagine herself the way that Dagna and Sera are, so comfortable, so confident that they have a future. For a moment looking at them is like staring into the sun, and she has to turn her face away.

By the time evening rolls around Tanith is a little feeling less maudlin. It’s still gorgeous out and she’s sitting with her back against the broad trunk of an oak tree, just the _tiniest_ bit crossfaded. Someone has brought speakers and the music is just right for the day, slow and sweet. Bull strolls over to her, beer in hand, sits down in the grass in front of her.

“You doing okay, T?”

“I’m good,” she says, the words feeling like bubbles in her mouth.

He frowns at her. “You sure? You seem a little… off.”

“Just tipsy.”

“Nah.” Bull shakes his head. “I know when you’re wasted, and this isn’t it. There’s something bothering you.”

Damn it, how can he _always tell_? A lot of people look at Bull and see a big dumb jock and, while they’re right about the big jock part, he’s actually much smarter than he gets credit for. Almost creepily perceptive, sometimes.

Tanith sighs, crosses her legs. “I don’t know. Something kind of weird happened this morning and it’s bugging me.”

“Well,” he says. “Shoot.”

Tanith tells him about Blackwall leaving while she was in the shower, the message that he sent her afterwards. Bull doesn’t look convinced.

“Okay, and? What happened before that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something must have kicked it off or you wouldn’t be thinking twice about it.”

Her mouth twists. He’s annoyingly good at this. “He asked me if I wanted to go to the common with him, I said no because I had to come here. That was it.”

“And then what did you say?”

She shrugs. “Nothing. I was running late, I needed to shower.”

“So, let me get this straight,” he says. “The guy asks you out, you reject him, and then you’re surprised when he bails.”

“Woah, wait, hold on.” Tanith sits up straight, suddenly feeling very sober. “I don’t have an obligation to go anywhere with anyone.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice is patient. “But did you think about inviting him here?”

She looks at him incredulously. “No. Even if— you’re _my_ friends. Regardless of… even if things _were_ different, which they’re _not_ , I still wouldn’t drag him along if I had plans with you guys.”

“Did you offer to reschedule, then?”

“No, I didn’t.” Tanith is getting pissed off now.

“Has this happened before?”

She opens her mouth to say no and then realises she’d be lying. Now that she thinks about it, it’s happened a few times in the past couple of weeks. Blackwall has suggested, casually, that they could go to this place, if she was free, could do this thing, if she wasn’t busy, and every time she has brushed him off. But that’s hardly her fault. She’s _never_ free, she’s _always_ busy. That isn’t a crime, is it?

Tanith must have been quiet for a long time, because Bull speaks again.

“Have you checked in recently?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t mean an ‘are you okay, does this hurt, can you breathe’ check-in. I mean a serious one.”

She frowns. “What for? He knows what the situation is.”

“Does he?” Bull asks. “Do _you_ , T?”

Jesus, why is he pressing her so hard on this? “Of course I do.”

“Alright. So what is it?”

“It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,” she says, too quickly. “We both get what we want, we go our separate ways. It’s simple, Bull. I _like_ how simple it is.”

He takes a long swig of his beer, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s been what, three months almost?”

“Something like that.”

“And how often do you see each other?”

“I don’t know. Once a week, maybe.”

“Hate to break it to you, T, but that’s not a simple arrangement any more. Not if you haven’t talked about it. If the guy’s asking you on dates and you’re not down you have to tell him. You can’t just keep blowing him off.”

“I’m not blowing him off, Bull, I’m busy.”

“So you are down?”

“I never said that.”

“Listen to yourself,” he says, gently. “This isn’t how we do things. I think, deep down, you know that. You need to tell him what it is that you want.”

Tanith’s voice is quiet. “And what if I don’t know what that is?”

“Then you figure it out. Come on, try me. Let’s see if we can’t hash this thing out.”

This would usually be her worst nightmare, being vulnerable in front of a friend like this, but the wine has loosened her tongue and, besides, there’s probably no one else but Bull she could trust to understand this stuff. “It’s good,” she says. “It’s really good. _As it is._ Anything that… complicates that, that’s what I’m worried about. This fits in my life right now.”

“Can I say something you’re not going to like?”

“I get the feeling you’re going to say it anyway.”

“Yeah, I am,” he shrugs. “Things don’t always fit perfectly, T. Life is messy. You can’t control everything all the time.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“You kind of are,” he says. “I think you like this guy. More than you want to admit. And I think you’re scared of change. Facing up to that feeling, it’ll change things, so you’re pushing it away. But if you keep pushing then it’s going to change regardless, and not in a good way.”

It’s kind of a mic drop moment, Tanith has to give him that. She rakes her hands through her hair, not wanting to admit how close to the bone his words have cut. It’s the criticism that’s been levelled at her in every argument she’s ever had with someone she’s been dating; she’s too stubborn, never opens up, never lets people in. Tanith wants everything _just so_ , and other people are a threat to that. They’re too unpredictable, taking up space, throwing her off course. And Blackwall… he surprises her all the time. Every time she thinks she has the measure of him he says or does something that seems totally out of character, and she has to rethink her perception of him all over again. It’s compelling and fascinating and it terrifies her.

“You’ve thought about this too much,” she says finally. “We’re fine. Seriously.”

The way that Bull looks at her then almost breaks her heart. He’s disappointed in her. “If you say so, T.” Then he hauls himself to his feet and goes back to the party.

Tanith walks home alone that night. Her head is foggy, aching a little from an afternoon of drinking in the sun. The evening air is cool on her skin, and it sobers her up as she makes her way towards her building. Once she’s inside the apartment she kicks her shoes off, runs a tall glass of water and drinks it at the kitchen counter. It’s been a good day, a _great_ day, exactly the kind of party she loves. So why does she feel so wretched?

When she steps into her bedroom the scent of him hits her. It clings to the rumpled sheets, hangs in the air like smoke. The shirt she stole from him months ago is hanging on the back of the Queen Anne chair, there's an indent the shape of his body on one side of the mattress. He has a toothbrush in her bathroom, for fuck’s sake. Little echoes of him everywhere. For the first time Tanith admits to herself what a mess she’s let herself get into, admits as well that she hasn’t got the first idea what to do about it.

She smooths the sheets out as best she can and lies on top of them, sinking back into the pillows. The Polaroid is still on the nightstand, surrounded by a scattering of photos. Tanith takes the top one off the pile and looks at it. It’s the photo she took just before he left, the only one they’re in together. She’s grinning at the camera, showing her teeth, eyes crinkling against the flash. Blackwall is looking at her. His hair is tousled, Tanith’s name scrawled across his chest, and the way he’s smiling says more than he ever has in words.

Tanith holds it up where she can see it, staring at their faces for the longest time. Her other hand reaches for her phone, dials a number. She holds it to her ear as it rings once, twice, three times.

“Hello?” His voice is hoarse, like he’s just woken up.

_We need to talk. We need to sit down and have a conversation and work this out. We need to find a word for what we are._

“Tanith? Are you there?”

She wills herself to speak, to say something, _anything_ , but nothing comes out. There are too many variables, too many ways this could go wrong. Bull was right. She’s terrified that if she says the wrong words then everything will change, fall apart.

So she hangs up, counts to fifty, sends a message: _sorry, pocket call!_

Then she throws the phone across to the other side of the bed, buries her face in a pillow that smells like his neck, and tries to sleep, and can’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who has been leaving kudos and comments! find me on twitter @elfthirst for more feral content


	6. Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [Ari Lennox & J. Cole - Shea Butter Baby](https://open.spotify.com/track/5BOBHIBuzvQuIYL1E1nDzl)   
>  [Jhené Aiko - P*$$Y Fairy (OTW)](https://open.spotify.com/track/48KXAIruJ07kJVCWOGohMV)   
>  [Teyana Taylor & Kehlani - Morning](https://open.spotify.com/track/2E6S3NgbSG9NYwbdi6rWYB)

It’s been one of those days where nothing seems to go right. First Sera’s car broke down halfway to their first job, making them almost two hours late for the shoot, and the client was pissed as hell. Then when Tanith returned to the studio to touch up some of the pictures from the previous day she discovered that a bunch of the files were corrupted. This had kept her in the office until late, and when she finally left she snagged her jacket on the door handle, tearing a massive hole in the seam.

When she gets back to her apartment she almost collapses with relief, only slightly soured when she discovers there’s no wine left in the house. She orders takeout, showers while she waits for it to arrive, pulls on an old sweatshirt and settles onto the couch for an evening of shitty TV. None of this does very much to improve her mood. Her phone buzzes while she’s half-watching some show about storage units, the notification lighting up the screen.

_Everything alright?_

Tanith realises that she forgot to reply to the message Blackwall sent her that morning, accidentally leaving him on read for about twelve hours. Quickly she types back _sorry, nightmare day. only just got home_

A moment later: _What happened?_

Her food arrives then, and Tanith sends a multi-message rant to him while she shovels Pad Thai into her mouth. She’s conscious that she’s writing an essay about basically nothing but she really, really needs to vent. They’ve seen each other less frequently since the day of Varric’s party, partly due to a few big jobs that Blackwall has lined up and partly because Tanith hasn’t invited him over that often. She’s just about managed to repress the weird cocktail of feelings from that night, and putting a bit of distance between them has helped her start to feel normal again. It’s fine. She’s doing fine.

He reads her messages, starts typing, then stops. Twenty minutes later he still hasn’t replied. Tanith supposes she deserves that. Doesn’t speak to him all day and then sends him a novel about her problems, doesn’t even ask how he is. Christ, why is she _like_ this?

She’s halfway through typing out a message that’s a bit less selfish when there’s a knock at the door. Frowning, she gets up and pads across the living room, still chewing on a mouthful of noodles. Tanith paid for her food online so she’s not sure why the delivery guy would be coming back, and she’s not expecting anyone else.

When she opens the door she almost chokes on her noodles.

“Here.” Blackwall hands her a plastic grocery bag, glass bottles clinking inside. “Now, I can either stay and help you drink that or I can go home and leave you to it. I don’t mind which.”

“Thank you.” For a moment Tanith doesn’t know what to say. She’s horribly conscious of her ratty sweatshirt, the empty takeout containers on the coffee table, the garbage on TV. Her first instinct is to ask him to leave her alone so he doesn’t have to see her so slovenly, but she realises quickly that she doesn’t want to. It’s been a while since they saw each other and, God, she always forgets how handsome he is, how much she wants to touch him when he’s near her.

“Come in,” she says, stepping aside to let him pass. “Sorry about the mess.”

“You should see my place.” Is that a dig, a suggestion? Four months down the line and Tanith has always had an excuse for why she can’t come over to his.

She pours two generous glasses of wine and takes them out to the balcony. There’s barely room for two chairs out in the tiny space, and his knee brushes her as he sits down next to her. Summer is coming to an end but the evenings are still warm, and from this vantage point they can see the million little lights of the city beyond.

“You’re very sweet,” she says, turning the stem of the wine glass between her fingers. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“It sounded like you needed it,” he says.

She really did. “How was your day?”

Blackwall shrugs. “Busy. Did Varric tell you I’m working on his new place?”

“Yeah, he did. That’s a huge job.” Varric had just bought a building downtown, an old distillery, which he was in the process of converting into a new bar. The place was massive, his biggest project to date.

“It’ll keep a roof over my head well into next year, I’ll say that much for it. Hell of a lot of work though.”

“Tell me about it.”

Blackwall looks a little surprised by this. Tanith can see why. Recently she’s realised how infrequently she asks him about his life, about his work. Every time he talks about himself he becomes more real to her, and it makes it harder to stay inside their little bubble. But tonight all Tanith wants to do is listen to him talk about his day.

“Well,” he says. “I had to hire someone to fix the plumbing before we could even get started. He was supposed to be there first thing yesterday morning, but the bastard never turned up…”

He tells her all about the various hiccups in the building process, the unreliable contractors and arguments with the planning department, all while Tanith sips at her wine and listens closely, bare feet resting on the railing. Several times he makes her laugh out loud, and why does she never remember how _funny_ he is? When he’s not with her she pictures him in a permanent state of stoicism, an impression that rarely rings true when he’s there in person.

Their conversation drifts to other work mishaps, each trying to beat the other’s worst ‘terrible client’ story. Tanith wins hands down when she tells him about the time she was hired just after college to shoot a family portrait, only to discover that the couple in question wanted an extensive series of boudoir photos taken.

“You should have seen their bedroom,” she says, shaking her head in horror at the recollection. “Velvet sheets. _Velvet_. Can you imagine sleeping in that?”

The corner of his mouth quirks upwards. “I would have thought you’d have some sympathy with unusual bedroom arrangements.”

“Of course,” she says. “But do it with a little class.”

He leans in to kiss her then, for what, she realises with a touch of surprise, is the first time that evening. Tanith melts into it, finding comfort in the softness of his mouth on hers, the smell of his skin. She puts a lazy hand on his thigh, lets it wander upwards. Blackwall inhales against her lips as she strokes him through the fabric. With practised fingers she undoes the buttons of his jeans, slips her hand inside his underwear.

“Isn’t this— isn’t it a little public?” he asks, voice tight.

It’s true that there are balconies on either side of them, and that they’re in full view of the building opposite hers, but right then Tanith doesn’t care. In fact, she’s quite into it. She likes how flustered he is, shifting slightly in a vain attempt to keep what she’s doing hidden from view.

“It is a little public,” she says. “And if anyone sees they’ll think ‘wow, what a lucky guy’.”

He laughs, then moans as her touches become faster, firmer. “Shit.”

“Besides,” she says, leaning in to nibble his ear. “I want to show you off. I doubt any of my neighbours have such an eager slut in their apartment. Why wouldn’t I want to broadcast that?”

“Arrest for public indecency?”

“Darling, there’s only one person ending up in handcuffs tonight, and it’s not me.”

She teases him a little longer, enjoying the tension in his body, the way he glances around the street to see who’s watching, then stands and pulls him up with her.

“Alright,” she says. “Admittedly the next part might require a little privacy.”

They kiss for a long time when they get to the bedroom, Tanith having to stretch on her tiptoes to reach him. She undresses him slowly, pressing her lips to his ribs, his collarbone, the creases at his wrists. Once she has him collared she leads him to the bed, lays him down on top of the covers.

“Hold on,” she says. “Stay ready for me.”

Tanith goes into the en suite for a minute, quickly brushing her teeth and splashing some water on her face. Not the hottest she’s ever looked, for sure, but at least her breath doesn’t smell like fish sauce any more.

When she comes back he’s he’s waiting for her, stretched out on the bed, slowly stroking his cock with his fingertips. Seeing him there, collared, hard, his eyes half-closed, Tanith feels her legs go weak. For a moment she just watches, drinking him in. She’d take a photo if there was even the slightest chance it would do him justice.

Tanith walks over to the bed, sits down beside him. She pushes his hair back, something tugging hard in her chest when he smiles at her.

“I don’t have anything planned,” she says. “You took me by surprise.”

“You’re a resourceful woman.”

“Hmm. That I am.”

She walks over to the vanity, unlocks the top drawer and sorts through its contents. It’s much more full than it was a few months ago — she has been gradually procuring items ever since they started seeing each other — but nothing in her collection feels quite right tonight. There’s something about the atmosphere, a weight to it that requires an intimacy that toys and equipment can’t provide. She takes a bundle of soft rope and a folded square of silk from the drawer before closing it.

Tanith takes her time lashing him to the bed, tying his wrists firmly to the frame. Then she has him lift his head while she covers his eyes with the fabric, securing it carefully, making sure he can’t see a thing. She wants him to feel everything keenly tonight, to have every sensation heightened. Once he is trussed and blindfolded she comes to sit between his legs, runs her hands up the inside of his thighs. His muscles twitch involuntarily, hips lifting as her fingers brush the sensitive skin there.

He’s so _responsive_. It’s one of the things she loves about him, the way every touch elicits a sound or movement that tells her exactly what effect she’s having on his body. It stokes her curiosity, makes her want to explore every part of him, discover all his little reactions.

Tanith lets saliva pool under her tongue, spits onto his cock. Even the whimper he makes at that is wonderful. She wraps her fingers around his shaft, runs them up and down the length of him as he arches to meet her. For a while she doesn’t vary her pace at all, keeping it steady and slow, making sure it’s never enough to push him further towards climax. After a few minutes his wrists begin straining at their ties, hands balling into fists.

“Is that not enough, darling?” she says. “Do you want a little more?”

“Please.”

“I don’t think so.”

She lets go of him entirely, sitting back on her heels and smiling to herself at the look on his face. Frustration, and the dawning horror as he realises what’s happening.

“Tanith.”

“Yes?”

“I’m begging you.”

“You should probably save that for later,” she says. “We’re going to be here a while.”

Then she starts touching him again, just as light and slow before, her other hand ghosting over the sensitive skin along his side. This is what she needs, to rid herself of the day. To be here, with him, knowing she’s in control, knowing that he’s hers entirely. After a while Blackwall starts breathing shallow, and Tanith takes her hands away from him once again.

The way he says her name is an entreaty, low and desperate. She doesn’t answer. Instead she gets off the bed, pulls the sweatshirt over her head, takes off her underwear, throws it to one side. Even the soft sound of cloth hitting carpet is enough to make him turn his body towards her. Tanith lays alongside him, kissing his neck, letting him feel her skin against his. She’s concerned he may actually snap through the rope, the way he’s pulling at his bonds to be closer to her.

Well, she can give him that.

She gets up, nudges his arms apart to accommodate her. As she settles herself with a knee on either side of his shoulders he cranes his neck upwards, trying to taste her, but she stays just out of his reach. Instead she leans forward and runs her nails up from his hips to his chest, revelling in the lines of red they leave behind.

“You’re going to have to earn this,” she says. “I mean, _really_ earn it. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s see.”

Tanith rocks backwards, shivers as his mouth meets her cunt. Even with his movement this restricted he can make her tremble, drawing slow lines along her with his tongue, humming into her flesh. She rolls her hips against him, shifting slightly so he can take her clit in his mouth. It would be so tempting just to stay here, to ride his face until she came, but she has her own responsibilities to attend to. Leaning forwards she takes his cock in her hand again, barely moving this time. He’s so hard that it can’t be comfortable, and the sounds he makes when she touches him confirms it. She braces one hand against his chest, keeps teasing as best she can while deeply, incredibly distracted by what he’s doing between her legs.

Eventually it’s too much for her to concentrate on at once. Unwilling to lose the intensity of her own climax for the sake of a little torture she leans back, gasps as he redoubles his efforts. She clamps her thighs around him as she cums, pushing back against his mouth, clawing at his skin. When it’s over she’s tingling from her toes to the top of her head, feeling almost lightheaded. She climbs off him, swaying a little, leans in to taste herself on his lips.

“Okay,” she says. “I think that’s earned a bit of credit.”

Tanith gets the lube off the nightstand and settles back between his legs. When she slides her finger inside him he jerks, surprise and pleasure overtaking him for a moment. She hooks her free hand around his leg, lifting it, pressing her lips to his skin.

“Jesus, Tanith.”

“I know, darling. Shh.”

At first she hardly moves, just letting him grow accustomed to the feel of her. As he begins to relax she curls her finger upwards, feeling for the spot that will lift his pleasure even further. He cries out when she finds it, a breathy gasp so full of desire that she almost laughs with the joy of it. She moves carefully, massaging slow circles as she trails kisses along the inside of his thigh.

“How’s that?”

“Incredible.”

“Good. Because that’s all you’re getting for a while.”

It takes her a huge amount of self-restraint to keep teasing, to draw it out, to not give him the satisfaction he craves. The desperation is clear in the lines of his body, the sounds escaping his throat. She wants to see the look on his face when he cums more than anything in the world. But she knows, too, that the longer she can hold him here the better it will be.

Eventually she trails one finger along the length of his cock, breathes out a sigh.

“Do you think you’ve done enough to deserve this?”

He freezes for the moment, working out, Tanith imagines, what the correct answer is. “Do you think I have?”

“Don’t deflect, darling. I’m asking _you_.”

Blackwall presses his teeth into his lip and, really, she doesn’t give a fuck what he says next when he looks like _that_. “Yes.”

“I think I agree.”

Still working her fingers in his ass, she presses a little lube into her other hand and strokes firmly strokes his cock. In truth she’s not moving with any more urgency than she was earlier, but she knows that the blending of sensations will be enough. It’s not long before his throat is flushed pink, breath shallow, his body tensing.

“Please, Tanith,” he says. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

It hadn’t occurred to her until he said it, but she’s almost tempted now. She resists, however, maintains her steady ministrations.

“I won’t,” she says. “Don’t worry. Cum for me.”

It isn’t long before he does, repeating her name like a mantra, the intensity of it surprising even her. When it’s done he’s breathing harder than she has ever seen him before, a sheen of sweat across his chest. She unties him, removes the blindfold from his eyes and the collar from his throat. As has become usual after they play she settles herself against the pillows, strokes his back as he rests his head on her chest. It’s in these quiet moments of recovery, almost more than any other, where Tanith feels most powerful, most responsible. There is something so profoundly vulnerable in having the weight of his body pressed to her, holding her arms around his trembling shoulders as he catches his breath.

 _Do I deserve it?_ The question hits her suddenly, springing from nowhere. But now it’s here it won’t be denied, can’t be pushed down, and so she asks herself again; _do I deserve it?_

She looks down at him, this man who has given himself so completely to her, who would drive miles in the middle of the night to give her a ride, who dropped everything to come and bring her wine when she was having a bad day, and the answer is so immediate and so obvious that it makes her feel dizzy. No, she doesn’t deserve it. Not even close.

Blackwall must notice the sudden stiffness in her body because he sits up, strokes his thumb along the curve of her neck. “Are you alright?”

“I’m supposed to be the one asking you that,” she says, smiling a little.

“Doesn’t hurt to change things round every once in a while,” he says. “With this, at least.”

“I’m fine.” She leans forward to kiss him. “Just tired.”

“I should let you get some rest,” he says. “You’ve had a long day.”

“So have you.” Tanith hesitates, swallows. “Do you want to stay?”

Christ, the way he looks at her then. For all that Blackwall struggles with eye contact while they’re intimate, the moment a scene is over it’s Tanith who can’t meet his gaze. The gravity of it takes her breath a little. “Tanith,” he says, taking her hand in his. “I always want to stay. You know that.”

She does know that. Knows too that the words he says are not the same as the things he’s trying to tell her. There’s a depth to that statement, an implication that Tanith doesn’t want to look at or think about. He’s trying to start a dialogue with her, and she’s not ready, she doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. Suddenly she wishes she hadn’t asked him to stay. Suddenly she wishes that he hadn’t come at all.

“I’ve got an early shoot in the morning,” she says. “We should get some sleep.”

His expression shifts when she says that, so slightly that it’s barely noticeable, but it’s enough to tell Tanith that this was the wrong thing to say. Blackwall had presented her with an opportunity to let him know how she felt, had done it subtly enough that she wouldn’t feel confronted, and she had turned it down. She is hit with the sudden, sick realisation that she has done something she can’t take back, has damaged something irrevocably with those words.

“If we’re up early enough tomorrow I could make breakfast,” she says, desperately trying to claw back control of the situation.

“Don’t worry about that.” He squeezes her hand gently. “Let’s just go to bed, eh?”

An hour later she’s lying awake while Blackwall sleeps soundly beside her. She’s strung out, on edge, all of her nerves vibrating. It’s like walking down the stairs in the dark and realising a moment too late that you’ve counted wrong, that lurch in the stomach before you come crashing down to earth. What was it that Bull had said? _If you keep pushing then it’s going to change regardless, and not in a good way._ Tanith is starting to worry that she’s proving him entirely right.

Blackwall shifts a little in his sleep, says something she can’t make out. Tanith rolls over so she’s facing his back, kisses his shoulder too lightly to wake him. She tucks her knees in behind his, leans her forehead against him, wraps her arm around his waist. Perhaps if things were different, if _she_ were different, then this situation wouldn’t be so complex, so difficult, so hopeless. Maybe, in another world, she could be worthy of him.

It’s that world she’s thinking about when she finally drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've now gone back and added suggested soundtrack links to all the previous chapters if anyone is interested in a little ambience with their pornography!
> 
> as always I'm at @elfthirst on twitter, come and say hi


	7. Lash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [Solange - Losing You](https://open.spotify.com/track/3I1AAFYxXMWeg0BlnihXHb)   
>  [Summer Walker - Karma](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Fyjjpg03fn7n5cj0Qm380)   
>  [Janelle Monáe - So Afraid](https://open.spotify.com/track/66jMYG0wj6m6oj8LKvteEn)

The room is too hot. Tanith has to keep wiping sweat from her neck, her upper lip, her forehead. Even with the windows open the air feels thick and heavy, hard to breathe through. The corset she’s wearing is cutting into her ribs, her shoes pinching at her toes. Everything feels off-kilter tonight.

She collects herself, takes the cane in her right hand and runs the tip of it down the length of his spine. Rattan is cruel; it bites, bleeds, the pain sharper and more intense than leather. So far she has taken it easy, light switches on the back of his thighs, just enough to make him twitch. Blackwall is kneeling at her feet, cuffed to the foot of the bed, shoulders tensing as he girds himself for the next blow.

It’s been too long since they've seen each other. Their contact is becoming more and more infrequent, and Tanith can feel herself losing her grip on him. He is drifting away from her and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. She could instruct him, of course, tell him to call, tell him to show up at her door, tell him to show her the same affection he had just a few weeks ago. But it would be grotesque of her to do it right now, an abuse of power, especially when she knows that his distance is her fault entirely. So she has kept away, kept quiet, let him come to her. Hoping that somehow things will resolve on their own. Knowing that they won’t.

Her head is full of it now, that creeping anxiety that comes when a connection begins to fray. Tanith wants to remind him why he’s here and what he saw in her in the first place. When he suggested coming over she accepted readily, dressing herself up to the nines before he arrived. But even that hadn’t gone right; she feels overdone and tawdry, the expensive lingerie and lipstick looking somehow cheap in the low light. She’s trying too hard, she knows, and not in the ways that matter. It seems like every time she tries to hold onto what they have it slips away a little more.

They have been building up to this for hours. Teasing fingertips first, then the flat palm of her hand, then the supple leather of the crop. It is an endurance challenge for them both. Tanith walks in an arc behind him, looking for signs of arousal or exhaustion, a gauge for how hard she should push. But his body doesn’t speak to her like it usually does. It’s like a door has closed between them, cutting them off from one another. So she goes slow, the lightest flick of her wrist. The _crack_ against his flesh is still loud, and he hisses through his teeth at the pain. She bends down, runs her fingertips across the welt forming over old bruises.

“A little more?” she says.

Blackwall lets out a breath. “Yes.”

“Alright.”

Another blow, harder this time, catching the back of his thighs. He swears, curls reflexively against it as Tanith rubs her face dry again. She must have forgotten to turn the heating off. Then she flicks the cane twice more, in quick succession, stacking pain on top of pain.

He said something to her earlier that she can’t stop thinking about. In a desperate grasp to win back some favour she had asked if he wanted to get coffee with her before work the next morning, trying to show him that she wasn’t a lost cause.

Blackwall had looked at her, something inscrutable in his eyes — sadness, maybe? — and said, “I shouldn’t stay.”

At the time Tanith had assumed that he was talking only about that night, knowing that he had a big delivery coming in the following morning, but now she wasn’t so sure. Was it possible that he had meant ‘I shouldn’t stay from now on’? Could he be taking deliberate steps to pull away from their situation?

Thinking about this distracts her, preoccupies her, takes her thoughts away from what she’s doing with her hands. So it takes a minute longer than it should for her to notice the change in him, the sudden slackening of the muscles, the shift in the register of his cries. The moment she realises what’s happening she drops the cane, scrambles to untie his wrists.

“Darling, I’m sorry,” she says, fumbling at the rope. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

It hasn’t happened to her in years, this awful realisation that she’s pushed past a partner’s limits. Hurt them in the wrong way. Tanith feels like she’s going to throw up. Panic and regret and absolute, utter self-loathing war within her as Blackwall slumps forward, breathing hard. His eyes are wide, glassy, the trembling in his hands a terrible, involuntary thing.

“Blackwall—” Tanith reaches for him and he flinches, actually _flinches_ away from her, holding up a hand to keep her from touching him. She almost falls backwards, shuffling away to give him space though all she wants to do is hold him, to show him remorse in the circle of her arms. They sit facing each other across the floor, metres apart, Tanith digging her nails hard into the flesh of her thighs.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again. “I didn’t realise—”

“It’s alright.” His voice is short as he feels around for his discarded shirt, uses it to wipe the sweat from his face. “I should have stopped you.”

“No.” Tanith shakes her head. “No, it’s supposed to be my— I should know—” She can’t get her words out, can’t find a way to say it that doesn’t sound like she’s begging for reassurance.

A drop like this is always awful to watch. He’s so pale, swaying a little where he sits. There’s always a risk, even a likelihood, of a dip during or after a scene, when the body exhausts itself of the hormones and chemicals flooding it, but it’s usually never this severe. It’s always something she can comfort him through, talk to him about, but this is different. This isn’t a side effect of their play, it’s a direct result of her negligence. She knows then that she never should have started tonight, given the state her thoughts are in. It was inevitable she’d lose concentration. God, how could she have been so _stupid_?

Tanith’s heart almost breaks when he reaches behind his neck to unfasten his collar. He’s never done that before. It’s always something she does for him, a key part of the slow intimacy they share once a scene is over. Watching him take it off himself, place it to one side, is almost more than she can bear.

“What can I do?” she asks. “How can I make it better?”

Blackwall looks dazed, like he’s just woken up. “Just… give me a minute. Please.”

“Of course. Of course.” She gets to her feet, closing the door behind her as she leaves the room.

In the kitchen she kicks off her shoes, goes to the sink and drinks cold water straight from the faucet. She wants to take a shower hot enough to hurt, wants to scrub her skin until she feels clean again. These fuck-ups happen sometimes, even to the most responsible people in the world, she knows this, but that knowledge doesn’t make her feel any better. If she hadn’t been so caught up in her own paranoia this never would have happened. It could have been avoided, and that’s the part that kills her. The things she does behind closed doors can hurt, but she doesn’t do them to hurt people. Without the trust, the control, the careful negotiation and response, it’s worthless.

She sits at the kitchen counter, head in her hands, trying to get a hold of herself. Her own drop is about to hit her, which isn’t helping. People often don’t realise that she can sink after a scene just as her partner can, coming down off the high. Usually it’s caring for the other person that gets her through it, and she doesn’t know what to do without that. Her heart is beating uncomfortably fast, her skin feels tight, there’s a nausea roiling in the pit of her stomach. All she wants to do is to go back into her bedroom and see him, touch him, make sure he’s alright, but to do so now would be beyond selfish. The only thing she can do is respect the boundary he has set; to stay away from him.

Blackwall walks into the living room a few minutes later, fully dressed again. He looks a little better, though his face his still drained of colour and there’s a slight tremor in his hands as he splashes his face with water.

“How are you feeling?” Tanith asks quietly.

“I’ve been better.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Please,” he says. “It’s alright. I know you didn’t— you wouldn’t mean to.” To Tanith’s relief he sounds genuine. He knows it was an accident, at least, for what little that matters.

She slips down off the stool and walks as close to him as she dares, terrified that he’ll flinch away from her again. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” she says. “I can make coffee, we could just watch TV for a while—”

“I think I should head home,” he says. “Probably for the best.”

It feels like being punched in the stomach. “Okay,” she says. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. And please don’t worry, eh?”

When he pulls her to his chest Tanith lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She wraps her arms around him, buries her face in the warmth of his neck. Blackwall strokes her hair slowly, comforting her, and she’s hit with another pang of guilt. That should be the other way around.

They stand there for the longest time. Tanith stays perfectly still, convinced that if she makes even the slightest movement he’ll let her go. The evening has exhausted her, and all she wants to do right then is go to bed and sleep beside him.

Eventually he lets go, steps away. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says.

Tanith nods. “Drive safe, okay?”

“I will.”

When he’s gone Tanith goes back to the bedroom, cleans up the detritus they’ve left behind, the sight of it making the disgust well up all over again. She takes off her lingerie and wipes away her makeup and stands under the shower for a long time, forehead resting against the tiles. It would have almost been better if he was angry at her, or upset, or cold. But there had been no resentment in the way he held her. Blackwall, like he did so often, had chosen to accept her apology at face value, to take her as she was. Tanith still can’t work out what she’s done to deserve it.

When she finally gets out of the shower she pulls on her most comfortable sweats, collapses on the couch, calls Bull.

“Hey, T. What’s up?”

“I fucked up, Bull. Like, really fucked up.”

“Do I need a beer for this?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” There’s the sound of glass clinking down the phone. “So, what happened?”

Tanith hugs her knees to her chest, not wanting to talk about it but knowing that she has to. “He tipped over the edge and I didn’t notice. Not for like, a full minute.”

“Ah.” Bull’s voice is understanding. “Well, that’s always shit, but it’s happened to all of us. Sometimes you just miss—”

“No, Bull, I didn’t just miss it,” she says. “My head was all over the place. I wasn’t paying attention. This is on me.”

“Right. And he’s not there now?”

“No, he went home.”

“Is he okay?”

Tanith sighs. “Yeah. I’m probably more fucked up about it than he is, honestly. I just don’t think he wants to see me right now. Can’t blame him.”

Bull is quiet for a long time. When he speaks again his voice is serious, a rare enough thing that Tanith pays attention. “I have to ask, T. Did the two of you ever talk? You know, _talk_?”

She knew this question was coming. “Look, it just hasn’t come up yet, okay?”

“Don’t give me that BS,” he says, not unkindly. “You could have brought it up any time. You chose not to.”

“Why does that even matter? It’s not like this happened while we were talking.”

“Listen,” he says. “What’s the most important part of what we do?”

He’s talking to her like she’s a surly teenager. Tanith leans back into the cushions, feeling like one. “Communication.”

“That’s right. And I bet I know where your head was at tonight, when it should have been on him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I bet you were getting stressed out over how complicated this is getting. And I bet you were panicking so much about fucking up that you fucked up anyway. Am I right?”

Tanith doesn’t say anything. He’s always fucking right, and he knows it.

“I’ll take that silence as a yes.”

“Fine. Yeah. I made a mistake, okay?”

“And you’re going to talk to him now, right?”

“Jesus, Bull, will you _drop_ it?” she snaps. “What is your obsession with us having this talk? What good does it do?”

“Yeah, because things seems to be going so well right now.”

“At least they’re going.” Tanith rubs her temples. She called Bull so he could make her feel better, not for a lecture. “Sometimes you don’t have to look too closely at things, you know? Sometimes they just are. You don’t have to slap a label on everything.”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “But do you know what you do need? Rules. Boundaries.”

“We have those.”

“In the bedroom, sure. What about outside of it?”

“We don’t go outside of it.”

“Now you’re being obtuse on purpose.”

Tanith is, and she knows it. “I just… look, I don’t want to have that conversation until I know exactly where my head’s at. And I don’t know yet.”

“And that would be fine if it was just about you. But it’s not. I hate to say this, T, but you’re being kind of a dick right now.”

For a moment Tanith is so shocked that she just sits there, mouth slightly open. Bull has always talked straight with her, but she’s never heard him really _mad_ before. He’s mad now though, she can hear it in his voice. “I just don’t want to rush it.” A weak response, but she had to say _something._

“What are you so afraid of?”

 _Everything._ “Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. What’s really bugging you?”

Tanith has to think about that for a while. It’s not a question she’s asked herself yet. She doesn’t want to know the answer. But she’s starting to see that confronting it is inevitable, so she tries her hardest not to shy away from the truth. It doesn’t come naturally to her, thinking about these things. It’s easier to keep protected, to not allow anyone to come near enough to hurt her. The opportunity for that has passed, though; Blackwall is already under her skin.

“I’m afraid if he gets any closer he won’t like what he sees.” The words are an effort. She has to choke them out.

“Alright. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Bull sounds approving now, his voice softening at the edges. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s happened with every other guy,” she says. “They like the idea of me, sure. They think I’m perfect when I’m fucking them. But the second it gets deeper they change their minds. I’m never quite what they expect, you know? They want me to be there all the time and I just… can’t do that.”

“This isn’t the first guy you’ve dated since I’ve known you. What’s so different this time?”

“I don’t know,” she says, honestly. “It just is.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You think you like him more than the others?”

Tanith thinks about that. She remembers a moment, the first time Blackwall had stayed over at her place. The next morning she had woken up in an empty bed, and when she shuffled out into the living room she found him in the kitchen corner, trying to figure out how to work her coffee machine. He hadn’t heard her when she walked in, and for a minute she just watched him. There were marks on his back and shoulders from her nails, her teeth, and he was poking at the buttons on the display like they were live ammunition. On the counter next to him were two empty cups, taken down from the shelf above the sink.

“Need some help with that?” she said.

Blackwall jumped a little at her voice. “Ah. Yes. I thought you might want… never mind.”

“You need to flick that little switch on the side first. Then you put the pods in.”

“Right.” He frowned, forehead creasing. “You know that this is far more complicated than making coffee needs to be, don’t you?”

Tanith laughed. “Here. I’ll show you.”

She walked over to the counter and opened one of the cabinets, standing on her tiptoes to take down the box of coffee pods on the top shelf. As she loaded them into the machine Blackwall came up behind her, pressed his lips to her neck.

“Good morning,” he said.

Tanith had smiled to herself as she pressed the pour button. “Good morning yourself.”

Thinking about that now makes her chest go tight. That’s what she wants. For things to be back like they were in those first months, before the complications crept in. She had thought that by maintaining what they had, by remaining enigmatic, distant, in control, she could keep that feeling going indefinitely. Obviously she had been wrong.

“T?” Bull prompts gently.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Yeah, I think I probably do like him more than the others.”

“There we go.”

“Shit.”

“So,” he says. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Just because I like him it doesn’t mean we’re right for each other.”

“What does that even _mean_? How can you even tell that without trying?”

“Look, just… let me think about it, alright? I need some time to process this.”

“Sure. Just don’t take too long, okay?”

“I won’t. Thanks, Bull.”

“No problem. Sweet dreams, T.”

Tanith hangs up, rubs her face with her hands. She’s exhausted. There are too many thoughts rushing round her head now, too many things to consider. Admitting to herself that her feelings run a little deeper than she realised hasn’t helped matters, only complicated them further. Now she just knows how much more she has to lose.

Eventually she drags herself off the couch, brushes her teeth, crawls into bed. It takes her a long time to sleep but she gets there in the end, restless and fitful as it is.

The next morning she wakes up, and she waits for him to call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks to everyone leaving kudos and comments! follow me on twitter at @elfthirst and share with all your nasty friends


	8. Listen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [Ella Mai - Trip](https://open.spotify.com/track/6CTWathupIiDs7U4InHnDA)   
>  [H.E.R. - Feel A Way](https://open.spotify.com/track/0Nt3UdaA4KrHEUSNwq9nCI)   
>  [Raveena - Stone](https://open.spotify.com/track/2qhahbZ5iMNmKIFCcVDGur)

Except he doesn’t call.

Not the next day, or the next, or the next. Blackwall’s _last online_ keeps updating so Tanith knows he’s there, talking to people, just not talking to her. The low hum of anxiety she has been feeling for the past couple of weeks is amplified tenfold, turning into a creeping sense of dread that haunts her wherever she goes. It’s that dread of the inevitable, beginning-of-the-end dread, nowhere-to-run dread. It makes her feel raw and tired, carrying this fear around with her.

She could call him, of course, but after what happened the last time they saw each other it doesn’t feel right to do so. He probably wants some space, and Tanith doesn’t want to ruin things further by pushing. So she waits, checking her phone every two minutes, hating that this is the person she’s turning into. This isn’t her. Usually she’s the one who forgets to text for three days, who drifts away. But she wants to hear his voice. Wants to apologise again, to have him absolve her, wants things to go back to the way they were. There’s also a small, strange part of her that feels almost proud; he’s not putting up with her shit any more.

Tanith has lunch plans with Varric that Sunday, and by the time it rolls around she hasn’t heard from Blackwall in almost a week. She feels resigned to it now, the anxiety just a dull ache in her chest. They meet at the little Italian place they both love, which is a mistake. It’s the one Tanith did the interior shots for, the one Blackwall refurbished, and as soon as she walks in the front door she’s thinking about him again. She pictures him sanding down the parquet floors, carefully regrouting the tiles behind the bar, and _fuck_ , when did she suddenly become some mooning teenager? Tanith tries to snap herself out of it. She orders fritto misto and an Aperol spritz, her favourite things on the menu, and resolves to have a pleasant afternoon with her friend.

For the most part, it works. It’s been a while since she’s seen Varric and they have a lot to catch each other up on. He’s been nominated for some local industry award and she’s landed a shoot for a high-profile designer, so they use it as an excuse for a little celebration. They talk about their work, their friends, their wayward families, they complain about the weather and the traffic and the news. Varric has her laughing often, as he always does. By the time they’re ordering dessert Tanith feels almost like herself again.

But then he ruins it.

“Hey,” he says, carefully. “You have any idea why my best contractor has been walking around with a face like thunder all week?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is a warning. “Maybe because his boss doesn’t know how to mind his own business.”

Varric holds his hands up. “This is purely professional, Freckles. I need this place ready to open by the end of the year. The way he’s been this week, I’ll be lucky if it’s finished by the end of the decade. So, what gives?”

Tanith sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. So much for her afternoon’s distraction. “Look, things have been a little rough, okay? That’s it.”

“When’s the last time you spoke to him?”

“Oh, will you just—”

Their desserts arrive then, and Tanith spoons tiramisu into her mouth so she doesn’t have to speak.

“I’m worried about you,” Varric says. “You’re not yourself. I’ve never seen you this strung out over someone before.”

Tanith gestures at her mouth as she chews, gives him a ‘what can you do?’ kind of shrug.

“Listen, I know your whole _thing_ is that you’re too cool and sophisticated to talk about your feelings — don’t look at me like that, yes it is — but you’re not an island. Sometimes getting stuff off your chest helps.”

She swallows. “There’s nothing _on_ my chest, Varric. Drop it.”

“Then why have you checked your phone a hundred times since we sat down?”

“I’m waiting on a call from a client.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“It’s a rude client.”

“Whatever,” he says, spooning up gelato. “Have it your way. But for what it’s worth, I think you need to talk to him. He looks miserable. So do you.”

“Your opinion has been noted,” she says. “And now that you’re done prying into my personal life, I think you should pick up the bill by way of apology.”

“Fair deal. Let’s get another drink, huh? Talk about something else.”

She lets him buy her another spritz, and they have an hour of conversation that doesn’t revolve around her relationship woes. By the time they leave she has almost forgiven him.

Varric offers to split an Uber with her but she declines. It’s an hour walk back to her apartment but she needs the air, and for the first time this week the autumn weather is almost pleasant. She takes the long way home, taking a route that avoids the main roads, cutting through parks and side streets where it’s quiet. Where she can think.

As she walks she weighs up her options in her head. Assuming that Blackwall isn’t planning to ghost her entirely — which, shit, isn’t impossible — it seems that some kind of confrontation is unavoidable. The way Tanith fucked up the last time they saw each other, the way she keeps fucking up, and now his silence this past week… they can’t keep pretending any more. Something is going to give.

So what happens when it does? He could decide that she’s not worth the trouble and walk away. She could walk away herself, avoid all of the drama by cutting it off at the source. Or they could try and work it out, come up with some kind of compromise, only to have things fall apart further down the line. None of these options appeal to Tanith. This is why she doesn’t do relationships if she can help it, why she seeks out liaisons which start and end with sex. It’s easier that way. Everyone knows what their roles are, everyone knows where their place is. She can trust that everything is under control. Her control.

The brief interlude of sunshine passes while she’s walking, the sky once again growing overcast. She shivers a little as she makes her way through her neighbourhood, pulling her jacket closer around her as she heads for home. Once she’s back in her apartment she pulls her phone out of her pocket and checks again. Nothing.

Irritated with herself for how much she’s obsessing she switches it off, puts music on as loud as she can without her neighbours getting pissed, and sets about cleaning her kitchen. It wasn’t really that messy to begin with but she scrubs it anyway, taking everything out of the cupboards, rearranging them, polishing the glass doors and bleaching the sink. Cleaning keeps her brain occupied, helps her relax. It kills an hour, and when she’s done she risks switching on her phone again. When no new notifications pop up she has to resist the urge to launch it off the balcony.

Tanith admits to herself that this is getting ridiculous. She sits on the couch, holding her phone like it might bite her, and dials his number. Her thumb hovers over the call button, but she can’t seem to bring herself to press it. It seems so wrong, so counterproductive, to hurry along the end like this. But what’s the alternative? Agonising over it forever? Turning into one of those people who sits by the phone all day, waiting for someone to call?

She’s about to press the button when her phone vibrates in her hand, making her jump. Her heart lurches when she sees his name. Muscle memory takes over and she answers too quickly, fast enough that he’ll know she was staring at the screen when he rang. Shit.

Tanith waits a few seconds before speaking. “Hello?”

“Hi.” His voice is low, warm. She didn’t realise how much she had missed it. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

“Has it?” She grimaces at herself, at the clumsy deflection. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“I just… I needed some time,” he says. “To think.”

“Oh?” Tanith holds her breath. Her heart is pounding.

“Are you free now?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I come over? I think we need to talk. In person.”

“Sure.” She wishes she could speak in something other than monosyllables. Her lips are traitorous, unmoving.

“Alright. See you soon.”

Blackwall hangs up, and Tanith buries her face in her hands. This is all such a mess. She never would have guessed, when she dragged him into that bathroom stall all those months ago, never would have _dreamed_ that things would end up this way. Never before has someone managed to disarm her so entirely. There’s something about him that makes her feel intensely seen. It’s in the way he speaks to her, selecting his words carefully, how he listens closely to everything she says, the look in his eyes during a scene when her touches turn gentle. She feels real when she’s with him, solid, known. It terrifies her.

It feels like she should get ready somehow, spruce herself up before he arrives, but she can’t seem to get off the couch. Instead she just lies there and stares at the her phone, watching the minutes tick past on the display. It doesn’t usually take him more than half an hour to get there if he’s travelling from home. Ten minutes. Thirteen. Twenty-three.

At twenty-seven there’s a knock on the door and Tanith scrambles to her feet so quickly that she almost trips. She stands there for a moment, frozen, not wanting him to think she’s rushing to answer. Her face is hot, her hands trembling. Eventually she walks over, takes a breath, opens the door.

“Hey,” she says. “Come in.”

He does, taking off his jacket and laying it on the kitchen counter. That must be a good sign, she thinks. He’s not planning to leave any time soon.

“I’m glad I caught you,” he says. “I really didn’t mean to leave it so long.”

“Its fine,” she says. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s not the point.”

They look at each other for a moment. The space between them is charged, almost humming with tension. Suddenly all Tanith wants to do is fall on him, taste him, feel his skin against hers, pin his wrists with her hands and watch as he comes undone. It wouldn’t be right to, would it, not now?

“We need—”

“I don’t—”

They both start talking at the same time then stop, each waiting for the other to finish. Blackwall sighs, walks over to her. She lifts a hand to his face, runs her fingers across his cheek, through his hair. He closes his eyes and leans into her touch.

“I can’t seem to keep away from you,” he says.

“Do you have to?”

“I don’t know.”

Tanith reaches up to kiss him. At first he doesn’t return it, his body still as she wraps her arms around his back, but a moment later he responds in kind. He pulls her closer to him, crushing his lips to hers, and she can feel some of the tension in him melt away. This is good, this is better, this is the way things should be. Tanith slips her hands under his shirt, caresses the skin there. She doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to talk, just wants to find oblivion in the soft lines of his body. They don’t have to speak as long as they’re touching. There are things she can say with her flesh that words can’t form.

When she begins undoing the buttons of his shirt Blackwall stiffens, places his hands on her shoulders.

“Tanith,” he breathes. “Wait. This isn’t why I came here.”

She looks up at him, disappointment and fear flooding her all over again. “No?”

“No.” He extricates himself from her gently, fastens his shirt as he walks over to the other side of the kitchen. “I came here because… there are things I need to say to you. I’ve spent the last week trying to work out what they are. Can’t say I’m any closer to figuring it out, but it felt best to try, at least.”

“Look, I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” she says. “About what happened last time. It really was an accident, I promise you. I’d never do anything to hurt you like that. Not on purpose.”

Blackwall frowns for a moment, looking a little confused. “What? Oh. No.” He shakes his head. “This isn’t about that, Tanith. Or it is, just not in the way you’re thinking.”

“Enlighten me then.” She folds her arms across her chest, feeling suddenly defensive. _Jesus, why can’t he just say what he’s thinking?_ Almost the moment the thought crosses her mind she realises what a hypocrite it makes her.

“I’ll try my best.” He looks at her for a long time then. His eyes are pale, sad. It’s the same way he looked at her months ago, when he came back from the bathroom and found her wearing his shirt. Tanith still doesn’t know what it means. “This isn’t working any more,” he says. “Not for me. Not in the way I want it.”

She’s expecting the words, but that doesn’t make her feel any less sick when she hears them. “I see.”

“I didn’t come into this with a plan,” he says. “That first time I knocked on that door I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know what this was, I didn’t know who you were, I didn’t know what you wanted. I thought that sooner or later I’d find out, so I kept coming. But it’s been four months now, Tanith. I’m still in the dark.”

She feels frozen in place. Is she really as obscure to him as that? “What we do,” she says. “Is it not what you want any more? Is it ever what you wanted?”

His face softens a little. “Of course it is. Being with you has been… I don’t have the words for it. It’s like being alive for the first time.”

Hope trickles in. It’s not a lost cause, not yet.

“But it’s not enough,” he continues. “I want more than this, Tanith. Whether you do or not is your decision. But I can’t keep waiting for you to let me in.”

Tanith takes a breath, asks the question she’s been dreading. “What more do you want?”

Blackwall paces the floor as he speaks. “I want to spend time with you. Real time, outside of here.” He gestures around the apartment. “I want to get dinner with you after work. I want to wake up with you on a Sunday and drive somewhere because the weather’s good. Not every night, not every weekend. But sometimes. I want you to meet my friends—” he pauses here “—because I do have friends, Tanith. I do have a life outside of you.”

She flinches. That one hurt.

“And every now and then I’d like you to be a part of it. But honestly, more than anything, I just want to know who you are. Who you really are.”

“We know each other,” she says quietly. “You know me.”

“I don’t know that I do,” he says. “I know the parts that you’ve let me see. The bits you’ve curated. But there’s more to you than that. I want to know one real thing about you, Tanith. Just one real thing.”

_One real thing._ Has she really shown him so little of herself, after all this time? It’s true that she’s never talked much about anything deep, but then neither has he. Except, no, that’s not true; he’s talked to her about his family, his past, his hopes. He’s left openings for her, has started conversations that she has chosen not to continue. It’s a reflex, a natural turning away, something she doesn’t even think about any more. Blackwall has laid his life out in front of her in the hope that she’ll do the same. She never has.

“Tanith,” he says. “If you’re not interested in this — if this isn’t what you want — I can’t blame you for that. I’m not placing any expectations on you. But you have to tell me. You have to say the words, or I won’t be able to walk away.”

She looks at him. Earnest eyes, open heart. Tanith thinks about things that he has just said to her, tries to picture them. She imagines waking up next to him in the morning, sunlight streaming through the curtains, talking idly about what they’ll do that day while she strokes the welts she’s given him the night before. She imagines introducing him to Bull and Sera and Dorian, knowing they would tease him incessantly to test him, knowing too that he’d take it in good humour, and she wonders if he has people as close to him, as important. She imagines staying up late with a bottle of wine, just talking, letting him gradually unspool all the things she keeps hidden in her heart. She imagines loving him. She imagines letting herself be loved.

Tanith opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. It’s like there’s something stuck in her throat and the longer she leaves it the worse it gets. The images in her head begin to shift and change, to twist around themselves. She can picture the first time that she gets irritated that he’s in her home, wanting nothing more than to have her space back. She thinks of his friends, probably as warm and practical as him, finding nothing to like in this cool, shallow girl he’s brought to meet them, and the disdainful glances they’ll give him when she speaks. She remembers the way every ex has looked at her by the end, like she’s disappointed them, like she didn’t live up to the image they had of her. She has too many memories that have been spoiled by the slow souring of a relationship. She imagines Blackwall looking at her that way, about the last few months becoming a time she resents, and even the thought of it makes her chest ache. There are different ways of losing people. Some are much worse than others.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I can’t.”

She sees Blackwall’s jaw tremble, just for a moment, before he clamps it still. Then he nods, takes his jacket from the counter, and walks across the room to her.

“Thank you for being honest with me.” He puts his arm around her shoulders, kisses the top of her head more gently than he ever has. “Take care, Tanith.”

She doesn’t turn around as he leaves. Doesn’t turn around as the door closes quietly behind him, when she hears his footsteps in the stairwell. For what feels like an eternity Tanith stands there, motionless, letting the weight of her decision wash over her. She waits for that feeling to come, the little kernel of relief that always appears after the end of a relationship. Usually there’s a part of her that is secretly pleased, thankful that her space, her life, is all hers again, despite the pain. Tanith waits, and waits, and waits. It doesn’t come. All she feels is a terrible tearing at her heart, a sickness in the pit of her stomach. If there is any comfort at all in what she’s done, she can’t find it.

She sinks to the floor, sits on the tiles with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her head is spinning. This isn’t how she thought it would feel to end it. Not even slightly.

The question drifts into her head, so sharp that it hurts. _What have I done?_ she thinks. _What the fuck have I done?_


	9. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [Kiana Ledé - EX](https://open.spotify.com/track/47cQCF21TczFSmGfpd7c07)   
>  [Nao - Another Lifetime](https://open.spotify.com/track/48WTGGIeSFD5ZMF51Rm4Y9)   
>  [Amber Mark - Regret](https://open.spotify.com/track/4wQp3kcxjM778uwcymCXK4)

Sera walks into the office and gapes. “Are you serious? Again?”

Tanith is sitting at her desk, surrounded by scattered invoices and boxes of takeout sushi. She turns around, a California roll halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“Do you _ever_ go home?”

“Yes. Sometimes.”

“Can’t you do all this next week?”

“No, I can’t, actually,” Tanith says, frowning. “If I don’t get these invoices out then neither of us get paid. I’m sure that’s not what you want.”

“Don’t give me that.” Sera puts her hands on her hips. “I know why you’re doing this.”

“You think whatever you like, Sera.” Tanith puts the California roll in her mouth, shrugging as she chews.

“You’ve had a face like a slapped arse ever since you broke up with beardy,” she says. “And now all you do is work a million hours a week.”

Tanith swallows. “It wasn’t a break up.”

“Oh, shut up.” Sera blows a raspberry. “Yes it bloody was. Have you done, like, _any_ of the things you’re supposed to do yet?”

“Which are?”

“Get a tattoo. Drink crap cocktails till you puke. Shag someone you shouldn’t. You know, _break up stuff_.”

“Sounds like a busy evening.”

“It’s better than living in your office and pretending nothing’s happened.”

“Nothing _has_ happened.”

Sera almost tears at her hair. “This isn’t normal,” she says. “You know that, right? If you carry on like this your head will explode. Literally.”

“Right,” Tanith nods. “My head will _literally_ explode. Got it. What do you care, anyway? I’m not making _you_ stay late.”

“I care because— shit, look, you’re my friend, alright? I’m worried about you. Everyone is.”

“What do you mean, ‘everyone’?”

“I mean everyone. You’ve gone… weird. This isn’t how you’re supposed to deal with stuff.”

“But getting tanked on daiquiris and fucking strangers is?”

“ _Y_ _es_!”

“Okay.” Tanith turns back to her paperwork. “Goodnight, Sera.”

“Remember. Head, boom.” She mimes her skull blowing up.

“Bye.”

Once Sera is gone Tanith returns to sorting out her invoices for the month. She usually doesn’t do them this early but hey, doesn’t hurt to get them out of the way, right? As she inputs late fees into spreadsheets and chews on avocado maki Tanith thinks about what Sera said. It pisses her off, being told how she’s supposed to behave. Sure, some people go a little crazy when a relationship comes to an end, but that’s not the only way to handle things. In fact, Tanith thinks that she’s dealing with it all pretty well. If she’s staying a little later at the office, working a little more, then so what? What harm does it do? It keeps her mind occupied _and_ it’s good for her business. Win-win.

She leaves the studio about eight, triple checking that she’s locked all the doors before getting a cab back home. During the short drive to her building she leans her head back against the cushioned seats, Sera’s words still playing on her mind.

It’s been a month now, more or less. Twenty-nine days, to be precise. Blackwall hasn’t tried to contact her, and she hasn’t tried to contact him. A clean break, just as Tanith likes it. For the first couple of days after he left she felt like shit — that was natural — but she can’t afford to let herself slide. There are too many things to do, too much work to take care of, shoots to plan and photos to edit and tax records to update. Wallowing requires the kind of time that Tanith doesn’t have, and so she doesn’t wallow. She files her feelings away in a folder marked ‘for later’ and gets on with her life. It’s beyond her why her friends seem to think this is somehow unhealthy, when she’s handling it so well.

Tanith yawns as she walks up the stairs to her apartment. She managed five hours sleep last night, a new record for the week. When she opens the front door she looks around the kitchen-living room, satisfied with how tidy it is. She's been cleaning a lot recently. Often when she gets home she’ll notice that something needs doing — a cabinet door loose on its hinges, a junk cupboard that’s too full, a window with smudges on the glass — and will set about putting it right.

She does a circuit of the room, looking for something to fix, to clean, to work on, but to her mild disappointment everything is exactly as it should be. Tanith sits on the arm of the sofa and thinks. Her fridge is full of groceries, the freezer stacked with healthy batch-cooked meals she has yet to touch; the carpets are spotless after her weekend steam-cleaning binge; there isn’t the tiniest spot of mildew left between the bathroom tiles. Well, shit. What is she supposed to do with herself now?

It occurs to her that it’s been four, maybe five days since she last changed her bedsheets. That seems like a laundry-worthy amount of time and, besides, she loves the feeling of fresh linens against her skin. In a lot of ways, this technically qualifies as self care. She goes to the bedroom and pulls off the pillowcases, the fitted sheet and blankets, puts them in the laundry hamper. The pillows and duvet are fluffed and shaken out, stray feathers plucked from the fabric. Tanith frowns at the mattress. Flipping mattresses is a thing people do, right? She should do that. Kill a few more minutes.

She’s hauling it up when she spots something stuck down the side of the bed, wedged between the wooden slats and the frame. Bracing the mattress against her shoulder, she leans down and plucks it out.

It’s the Polaroid she took the morning of Varric’s birthday party. She must have dropped it down there months ago. Tanith lets the mattress fall, sits cross-legged on the floor to look at it. Her stomach turns over as she stares at the picture. Blackwall, his hair tousled, smiling at her as she squints against the flash. Tanith beaming, her back pressed up to his shoulder. They look happy. _She_ looks happy.

Suddenly Tanith doesn’t feel like doing housework any more. It’s like a candle flame has been snuffed out, plunging her into the dark. The apartment feels too big, too quiet, too empty. She has become adept at ignoring the persistent ache in her chest but now it sharpens, squeezing hard inside her ribs. For the first time in weeks she doesn’t want to be alone.

Tanith gets up, not bothering to put new sheets on the bed, and grabs her bag. She’s in half a daze as she leaves the apartment and walks back out onto the street, her feet moving forward almost without her telling them to. It’s raining a little, a cool autumn drizzle, and a dull part of her mind thinks: _you should go back for your umbrella._ But she just keeps putting one foot in front of the other, not caring about the cold, the growing heaviness of her jacket, the way her hair hangs around her face in damp ringlets. When she reaches his house she shakes her head, hardly realising that this was where she had been heading.

She shivers as she walks up the steps to the front door, presses the bell.

The man who opens it a few seconds later blinks at her when he sees her standing there, wet as a drowned rat. “Tanith?”

“Hey, Krem,” she says. “Is he here?”

“Yeah, he just got home. Come in.”

Tanith follows him into the hallway, kicking off her shoes. He takes her through to the living room, where the house’s other occupants are lounging around watching TV. A few of them look up at her, trade glances with one another. She must look crazy standing there, dripping rainwater onto the carpet, her eyes vacant. Tanith attempts a smile and they wave at her half-heartedly.

This place is always chaotic, mismatched furniture and fitness equipment crowding the floor, a mish-mash of weird art and photographs covering every inch of the walls. There’s a laundry rack hanging off one of the radiators and Krem plucks a clean towel from it, passes it to her. “Here,” he says. “I’ll go and get him.”

Tanith stands awkwardly at the edge of the room, drying herself off as best she can. She feels almost drunk. Her head is fuzzy, her legs weak. Some reality star is shouting from the television but she can’t make out a single word they’re saying.

A minute later Krem comes back, Bull following behind him. Her friend frowns when he sees her, concern written plain in the lines of his face.

“Shit, T. Everything okay?”

“I—” she stops, not knowing what it is she wants to say, barely knowing how she ended up here in the first place. “I just—”

Her eyes prickle with heat. Tanith is mortified as she realises what’s happening, clasping a hand over her mouth, trying to push it back, but it’s too late now. The first sob rips through her, spilling hot tears down her cheeks.

Tanith Lavellan doesn’t cry. Not at movies, not at funerals, definitely not at breakups. The closest she ever gets is when she’s angry, occasionally letting out one quick wail of frustration before composing herself. It’s messy, undignified. But now she can’t seem to stop it. She stands in the middle of Bull’s living room, his various housemates staring at her, and cries in great ugly sobs like a child who’s just skinned their knee on the playground. And — she realises with a sudden shock — she doesn’t fucking _care_. She doesn’t give a shit that these people she half-knows are watching her make a fool of herself, standing there with her shoulders heaving and her face blotchy. What does it matter, when her heart is tearing itself in two?

“Okay,” Bull says gently. “Let’s go.”

He puts his hand on Tanith’s arm and steers her out of the room. She allows herself to be led, still gasping, eyes streaming. When they’re in his bedroom he fishes a t-shirt out of a drawer, tosses it to her.

“You’re soaking. Get into that. I’ll be back.” He leaves her there, closing the door behind him.

Tanith peels herself out of her wet clothes and pulls Bull’s shirt over her head. It’s ridiculously big, the logo of the gym he works at in large letters on the front. She catches sight of herself in the mirror, sees what a mess she looks, barks out a laugh. It’s all so incredibly stupid. She crawls onto Bull’s bed, sniffling weakly into a pillow.

He returns a few seconds later with his arms full — wine, glasses, a box of tissues, a family-sized tub of ice cream.

“Where did you get all that stuff?” Tanith asks. Bull is more of a beer and protein shake kind of guy.

“Went out and bought it last month,” he says, shutting the door with his foot. “When you told me you’d finished things. I had a feeling this was coming.”

Tanith shakes her head, hiccuping. Jesus Christ, how is she _still crying_? How can there be this much liquid in her entire body?

“So,” he says, putting a glass down on the nightstand next to her and filling it almost to the brim. “What happened?”

She tells him about coming home from work, flipping the mattress, finding the photo. As she speaks she starts sobbing again, even harder this time, her diaphragm aching with it. Bull sits down next to her, nods along as she speaks.

“Why did I _do_ it?” she asks. “Seriously, Bull, what was I _thinking_?”

“You were scared,” he said. “I hate to say this, T, but I tried to tell you. This was a long time coming.”

“I know.” Tanith wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t listen. As usual.”

“Sometimes you have to learn from experience.”

“Shitty fucking experience.”

Bull breathes out a sigh, chews his lip like he’s trying to decide what to say to her. “Look,” he says. “I’ve seen you date plenty of times. Always just figured you weren’t a relationship kind of girl. And that’s fine, nothing wrong with that. But this… T, is there something else going on here? I’ve seen you break up with guys before, but I’ve never seen you _sabotage_ something like this. I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else, apparently,” she sniffs. “Maybe there is, you know. Maybe there’s just something fundamentally wrong with me.”

“I never said that. You’re not broken. But you’re not okay, either.”

“No, I’m not.” Tanith picks up the glass, takes a long sip. The wine warms her up from the inside. “I think it’s possible I might have some issues.”

Bull laughs. “Yeah, no shit. Welcome to the club. We’re all fuckups here.”

She lifts her glass. “Cheers to that.”

After a little more talking Bull opens the ice cream and sticks some crappy rom com on the TV. He puts his arm around her shoulder while they watch, letting Tanith rest her head against his chest. She’s grateful for the solid presence of him. It feels good to be held by someone who has no expectations of her, to weep on his shoulder and not be judged for it. The movie is garbage but she sobs all through it anyway, losing her shit again every time something remotely romantic or upsetting happens. It’s like a dam has burst in her, and now she’s started crying she can’t make herself stop. Ordinarily this would be her worst nightmare. She hates feeling weak, being a mess, losing control in front of other people. But — in a weird, twisted way — it feels _good_. It’s like coming up for air after being underwater, or taking off a pair of shoes that rub her feet. There’s a profound kind of relief in letting herself go like this, in bawling her eyes out while Bull pats her shoulder and says ‘there there’ and ‘it’s okay’ at random intervals. She feels better. Awful, and lonely, and heartbroken, but better.

By the time the movie’s over Tanith has finished off half the box of tissues and most of the wine. The ice cream tub sits empty on the nightstand. She blows her nose again, takes a shuddering breath.

“So,” Bull says. “Are you going to call him?”

“What, _now_?”

“No, not now. But eventually.”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

“I highly doubt that. The guy was crazy about you, T.”

“ _Was_ being the operative word.”

Bull shakes his head. “Nah. People don’t forget so easily.”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “Nothing’s changed, not really. I’m still the same person. He deserves better than me.”

“False,” he says. “But I get it. I’m not trying to push you. If you’re not ready that’s okay.”

Tanith’s voice is small as she says, “I miss him.”

“I know. I bet he’s out there missing you too.”

“Maybe.”

She stays the night at Bull’s place, the two of them sleeping back to back in his bed. There’s barely enough room for her and he snores like a freight train, but Tanith is asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow. It’s a deep, untroubled sleep, and when she finally wakes the following morning and checks her phone she realises she’s been down for ten solid hours.

Bull isn’t there when she gets up, but he walks back into the room while she’s still rubbing the bleariness from her eyes. “Good morning,” he says, handing her a steaming cup of coffee. “I think you needed that.”

“I think I did.” She takes a sip, grimaces. “Is this decaf?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck that. Let’s go get breakfast.”

Tanith’s clothes from the night before are dry again so she pulls them back on, not caring for once that she hasn’t showered and her hair is a mess. They walk down the street to a cheap little cafe on the corner, where Tanith orders the largest, greasiest thing on the menu and a mug of coffee that actually has caffeine in it. When the waiter brings the food over she falls on it ravenously, suddenly _starving_. All that crying must have given her an appetite.

Bull grinds pepper onto his eggs, staring at her. “You hungry?”

“Yes,” Tanith says through a mouthful of toast. “Very. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” he says. “Glad to see you doing better.”

Tanith realises that he’s right. Her heart is aching, her eyes are sore from crying, and every few minutes she wants to burst into tears again, but despite all that she feels kind of incredible. It’s like she’s woken up a new person, vulnerable, alive, her nerves raw and tingling.

She polishes off her food in record time and leans back in her chair, hands folded over her stomach. “Fuck, that was good.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Bull looks mildly amused.

“Hey, listen,” she says. “Thank you for last night. Seriously. You’re a good friend.”

“Don’t mention it. You’re like a sister to me, T, you know that. Any time you need me, I’m here. We’re family.”

Tanith grabs napkins from the dispenser as tears spring to her eyes again. “ _Shit_. How do people live like this? I feel like I’m about to die from dehydration.” She dabs her face dry, pulls herself together. “Your roommates must think I’m cracked in the head.”

“Have you _met_ my roommates?” Bull raises an eyebrow at her. “They probably like you more than ever now. We have a thing for melodrama.”

“Good to know,” she laughs.

They spend the rest of the morning together, wandering around thrift stores and record shops and talking about nothing. Eventually Tanith starts to feel uncomfortable in her grimy day-old clothes, and she hugs Bull goodbye for a long time before heading home.

She pays more attention to the city around her than she usually does while she walks. There are people everywhere, rushing back to work after a lunch break or jogging through the park, parents with kids, couples kissing, couples arguing, teenagers congregating around fast food restaurants. The pavements are still dark from the previous night’s rain, the occasional tree dripping water on Tanith’s head as she passes, and the air smells clean with it. Between the high-rises the sky is pale blue, with wisps of cloud scudding across. It reminds Tanith of those mornings after she first moved to the city, when she’d walk back home after an all-night party, spacey with tiredness and carrying her heels in one hand. It’s that same wide-eyed wonder at the world, the feeling that anything could happen.

When she gets back home she runs a bath and sits in it for over an hour. While she’s soaking she cries three more times, not even trying to fight in now, just accepting that it’s something her body needs to do. When her thoughts turn to Blackwall she doesn’t push them down like she normally would. She thinks about his face, the smell of his neck, the way he frowns when he talks about something that interests him, the low noises he makes when he’s tied and teased and wanting her.

Finally she gets out of the bath and pulls her pyjamas on, even though it’s only four in the afternoon. The Polaroid is still laying on the nightstand where she left it. She forces herself to look at it, to let herself mourn. Then she presses it to her lips, puts it in the top drawer of her vanity, turns the key in the lock. Reluctantly she changes the sheets on her bed — she does not bother flipping the mattress — then wanders out into the living room, sniffling. Every bit of her apartment reminds her of him. Tanith remembers him sleeping in her bed, shoulders peppered with love bites; remembers him sitting on the balcony, laughing at some stupid joke of hers; remembers him lying on the couch with one arm around her shoulders.

For several hours she does nothing but watch reruns on the food channel. That awakens her appetite again, and Tanith briefly considers the tupperwares in the freezer before ordering a pizza large enough to feed a small family.

She’s halfway through eating it when an idea occurs to her. It’s a thought that scares her, makes her breath catch, but Tanith doesn’t ignore it. Instead she pulls her phone out of her pocket, types a few words into the search bar. As she chews slices of double pepperoni she scrolls through websites, looking for something that fits, looking for something that feels right. Eventually she finds one that appeals to her. She types out a short, halting email, presses send before she can talk herself out of it. That done, she returns her attention to the food and the television and her small, quiet sadness.

It isn’t much. But it’s a start.


	10. Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [Lizzo - Coconut Oil](https://open.spotify.com/track/6E44nO0qqQqfmXOhQPp0MM)   
>  [Corinne Bailey Rae - Call Me When You Get This](https://open.spotify.com/track/2KTPl195TxcS4zywV8p1EY)   
>  [Teyana Taylor - Gonna Love Me](https://open.spotify.com/track/3nXrCAE44KlevAkQB2XWcN)

The next two months pass quick enough to make Tanith’s head spin.

It seems like every label and store in the city is looking for photographers, desperate to get their websites updated in time for the holiday rush and the winter sales. She takes as many bookings as she reasonably can, often having several back-to-back shoots in a day. It’s good business for them, and word must be getting around; every other call she gets is from someone recommended by another client, hoping to hire her for this or that job. In the evenings Tanith picks the best shots, works on updating her long-neglected portfolio. She even sends pitches to a couple of magazines she’s always wanted to work with, figuring she might as well start putting herself out there again. For a while now she’s been coasting.

At night she goes to bed tired; not the fitful exhaustion of overwork, but the honest weariness of a day’s hard work.

Most weekends she sees her friends, spending more time at restaurants and movie theatres and dinner parties now that the weather is on the turn. Some she spends alone, going to galleries and cafes by herself, or just spending entire Sundays reading in bed because she feels like it. She’s being strict with herself about not working on the weekends now, allowing herself to not be occupied every minute of every day. It’s one of Josie’s rules, and while Tanith still hasn’t quite got the hang of ‘relaxing’ yet, it’s definitely getting easier.

Because that’s another thing keeping her busy; for the last few weeks Tanith has been seeing a therapist. She received a reply to her email enquiry the morning after she sent it, and booked in to see Dr Montilyet for the first time a few days later. Tanith likes Dr Montilyet — Josie — a lot. She’s patient, which is necessary, but also isn’t afraid to call her on her shit.

If Tanith had been under the impression that therapy would be some magic overnight cure-all, that illusion was very quickly shattered. It’s hard work, harder than she had ever imagined it would be, but gradually she’s noticing the change in herself. Bit by bit she’s starting to open up, to share more both with Josie and with her friends. She’s working on her issues with control, is beginning not to feel nauseous every time things don’t go precisely her way. And, ridiculously, she still can’t stop crying. The slightest thing sets her off these days. One minute she’ll be absolutely fine, and then she’ll see an elderly couple holding hands at a bus stop or a sad puppy in a butter advert and she’ll suddenly be scrabbling in her bag for tissues. It’s alright, though. She’s getting used to that too.

Tanith feels different these days. More fragile, raw, but better. More herself. It’s like she’s shed the top layer of her skin, leaving everything sensitive and exposed, able to feel things in a way she hadn’t before. It’s profoundly weird, but Josie assures her it’s a perfectly normal part of the process.

She thinks about Blackwall often. Probably more than she should. According to Josie this is normal too, but Tanith can’t help but feel that she should be more over it. A whole season has changed since she last saw him, but somehow it doesn’t make her miss him any less. Every now and again she’ll catch herself with her phone in her hand, about to send him a message: _what are you doing, what are you wearing, are you free tonight?_ It’s like her body can’t seem to remember he’s gone, even though her mind is constantly aware of the fact. When November rolls around she turns the page of the calendar in her office without thinking, bursts out crying when she sees his face.

But the pain has lessened now, become an occasional soft ache rather than the gut-punch it had once been. A few times Bull has gently suggested that she call him, but she has always said no, saying that it’s not the right time yet. But, if she’s being honest with herself, that’s not why. What she’s really afraid of is that Blackwall won’t be interested any more, that he’ll have met someone else, that she’ll call and find he’s blocked her number. She doesn’t think she could take that. It might undo all of the work she’s done these past few months, and that’s the last thing she wants.

So she doesn’t call, and she focuses on her work, and her friends, and her sessions with Josie, and does her stupid therapy homework, and takes her vitamins, and sleeps, and heals.

And then, all of a sudden, it’s Christmas. No one wants shoots over the holidays so Tanith has a whole two weeks with no work, a prospect that she tells herself that she’s excited about. She did all her shopping early — and online — so she doesn’t have to spend the days leading up to Christmas sweating through her winter coat in overcrowded department stores. Instead she spends those first two days off at home, drinking wine and wrapping presents and watching cookie-cutter movies on the Hallmark channel. There’s a moment one night, when she’s on the living room floor in her pyjamas, surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbons, tipsy on cabernet sauvignon, Dean Martin on the radio, when Tanith realises something surprising — she’s happy. Really, truly happy, for the first time in… well. A while, it’s safe to say. She has a quick ten-minute cry at the thought, then gets back to the stack of presents still left to wrap.

Christmas Day itself she spends at Varric’s place, like she always does. He sees his folks in the morning to fulfil his familial obligations and then throws what he likes to call ‘the waifs and strays party’, a dinner for all of his friends who for whatever reason can’t — or don’t want to — go home for the holidays. It’s always a raucous, boozy affair, and it’s rare for them to make it to midnight before getting comatose on food and drink.

Varric’s apartment is gorgeous, a converted loft in the city centre that probably costs more per month than Tanith earns in three. It’s always easy to forget how loaded he is, but the minute you walk into his building it becomes immediately obvious. All the usual suspects are in attendance; Tanith, of course, Bull and Krem, Sera and Dagna, Dorian. They sit around the huge oak dining table and swap gifts while they wait for the turkey to cook, sipping buck’s fizz and talking over each other. Tanith has brought her camera and she forces everyone to pose, laughing as they cheese for the pictures.

“You seem different,” Dorian says to her as they lay the table for dinner. “What is it? New haircut? New man?”

“New therapist,” Sera says. Usually Tanith would be annoyed about the breach of her privacy, but today she just laughs it off.

“Yeah, that one. I’ve turned into one of those awful city girl cliches. Brunch at eleven, shrink at three.”

“Good for you,” he says approvingly. “Everyone should have a therapist. They’re wonderful. I have two.”

“Is that enough?” Tanith asks. Dorian throws a napkin at her.

Dinner is amazing, as always. If Varric hadn’t gone into the mogul business he could have been a world-class chef. The turkey is tender, skin crisp and salty, the potatoes crunchy with semolina, the cranberry sauce a bright, arterial red. Tanith goes back for a second helping, then a third, and eventually admits defeat when she has to unzip the waistband of her skirt.

After they’ve finished eating Tanith helps Varric clear the table, then she chats to him in the kitchen for a while as they get some of the dishes out of the way. He has big plans for the following year, as does she, and they kid about the tropical vacations they’ll take when they’re millionaires, as if either of them could bear to be away from their work that long.

“Hey,” Varric says during a lull in the conversation, his voice suddenly serious. “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh? Shoot.”

“It’s about New Year’s.”

“Okay?”

Varric is throwing a huge party for New Year’s at his new bar, the Old Distillery. It’s set to be an exclusive, invite-only affair, doubling as the grand opening. He’s been planning it for months, and Tanith knows he’s more nervous about it than he lets on.

“Yeah,” Varric says, looking uncomfortable. “Blackwall’s going to be there.”

“Oh,” Tanith says. She’s holding a plate in her hands, and sets it gently on the counter before she drops it. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry if it makes things awkward,” he says. “I invited everyone who worked on the bar, I couldn’t leave him off the list. Didn’t want to tell you until I was sure but he RSVP-ed last night.”

“Of course,” Tanith says. “I get it.”

“I hope it doesn’t put you off coming. You’ve seen the place, it’s huge. You won’t have to see him all night, if you don’t want to.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t miss it, okay?” Tanith smiles weakly. “Don’t worry.”

“Good. It wouldn’t be a party without you, Freckles.”

“It’s just—” she says, struggling to find the words. “I was—” Tanith stops, takes a few seconds to collect herself like Josie always tells her to. “Do you know if… is he coming alone?” She feels pathetic asking, like a teenager who’s been dumped the week before prom.

Varric nods. “No plus ones,” he says. “Besides, I don’t think there’s much chance of that anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, I don’t know the guy that well,” he says. “This is pure speculation. But I don’t think he’s over you yet. Not close.”

Tanith swallows. “You don’t?”

“He asks about you every time I speak to him,” Varric says gently. “And it’s not subtle, either. It’s always ‘hey, there’s half a ton of lumber being delivered on Tuesday, can you sign off on that, and how’s Tanith doing by the way?’”

She laughs, cheeks flushing in spite of herself. “For real?”

“Cross my heart. But anyway, enough about that. Give me a hand with dessert, will you?”

Tanith gets an Uber home that night, too stuffed and drunk to walk in heels. She turns over what Varric told her a million times, thinking about what it will be like to see Blackwall again, to be in the same room as him, to speak to him, maybe. It makes her feel sick and hot and excited and terrified all at once. Ordinarily she’d call Josie to talk it through, but she’s not about to bother her therapist over the holidays. Looks like this time she’s on her own.

She manages to get through that slow week between Christmas and New Year without thinking too much about the party — without thinking too much about him — but when she wakes up on December 31st the nerves hit her like a ton of bricks. For a while she just lies in bed, staring at the ceiling and willing herself to get up and eat breakfast. Her appetite has disappeared, replaced with a bundle of static that hums through her body. At a loss for what else to do, she unplugs her phone and calls Bull.

“Hey,” she says. “Do you think I could just… not go? That would be fine, right?”

“No,” he says, “and you know it. Come on, T, you’re tough. You can do this.”

“But I don’t _want_ to.” Tanith rolls over in bed, pressing her face into the pillow. She’s whining, and she knows it.

“It’ll be great,” Bull says firmly. “We’ll drink, we’ll dance, we’ll make some trouble. Didn’t you say your shrink had some whole thing about the new year?”

“Yeah,” Tanith sighs. “She says it’s ‘symbolic of new beginnings’. Ugh.”

“Then start as you mean to go on. Be brave.”

“Fine. I’ll be brave.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “You want me to come over?”

“Yes please.”

Bull arrives a half hour later, carrying his suit in a dry-cleaning bag. The party is black tie only, something that Tanith is quite excited about. The aesthete in her loves a dress code. Tanith makes breakfast for them both, and they spend the rest of the day watching reruns of old sitcoms on her couch. Just having him there takes the edge off her anxiety, and before she knows it it’s time to get ready. Bull insists that it won’t take him more than five minutes to put his suit on — something that Tanith highly doubts — so she leaves him in the living room while she goes to shower and change.

She spends a long time in front of the mirror, music playing from her phone speakers while she does her hair and brushes a subtle dusting of gold over her eyelids. It’s the same ritual as she uses for everything that scares her; job interviews, networking functions, first dates. Tanith’s appearance is her armour, and the better it is the more secure she feels. The dress she bought for the evening still has the tags on, and she snips them out carefully with nail scissors before pulling it up over her hips. It’s simple, elegant, close-fitting black fabric with a wide bardot neckline. She zips it up, slips into a pair of shoes with heels that could double as a deadly weapon and, all of a sudden, she’s ready.

Tanith pushes the bedroom door open, does a little turn as she walks into the living room. “So? How do I look?”

“Amazing,” Bull says. “There’ll be guys in there ready to chop their left nut off for a chance with you.”

“Graphic,” she smiles. “Thank you.”

“And me?” Bull stands up, pulls a vague approximation of a cover model pose.

Tanith laughs. He looks like every high school jock going to his first formal. “Perfect. We getting a cab?”

“Unless you’re planning to walk downtown in those heels.”

“Good point.”

She pulls a heavy camel coat on and the two of them head outside, waiting in front of the building for their Uber. It’s freezing, the air so crisp it pulls the air from her lungs. There’s that particular electricity in the atmosphere, the silence that comes just before snow.

On the drive to the party Tanith feels nausea begin to coil in the pit of her stomach again. She reaches across the backseat for Bull’s hand and he squeezes it tight, the firm pressure keeping her steady for the rest of the journey.

The Old Distillery is massive, a great redbrick warehouse right on the waterfront. There are lights strung up outside, and Tanith can hear the low thump of music from inside as they approach. A very courteous bouncer checks their invitations on the door, then takes their coats and waves them inside. There’s already a huge crowd gathered despite the early hour, the sound of talk filling the high-ceilinged space. Tanith has to admit, it’s gorgeous. A long mahogany bar takes up most of one wall and the spiral stairs leading up to the second floor are bare metal, wound around with trailing plants. Varric is going to make a _killing_.

The man himself is right at the front of the throng, ready to greet them as they come in. Varric hugs them both, beaming. He’s obviously a little giddy with success already.

“Glad you made it,” he says. “Listen, there’s a booth upstairs roped off for you. Call it the VIP area.”

“Sweet,” Bull says. “You want to be careful. Any more of this treatment and I’ll start feeling fancy.”

“Don’t mention it.” Varric looks at Tanith, meeting her eyes. “It’s very private. You won’t have to see anyone else if you don’t want to.”

She’s filled with gratitude for him then, and is suddenly overwhelmed with a rush of love for her friends. No crying though, not in this eyeliner. “You’re the best,” she says. “Will you be joining us? Or are you too big and important for us now?”

“Never,” he winks. “There’s a bucket of champagne up there with your name on it. Go have fun.”

Bull and Tanith navigate their way through the crowd and up the stairs. The booth that Varric has put aside for them is as private as he promised, with a great view of the dancefloor below. Before they’ve even sat down Bull is popping the cork on the champagne, slopping a great deal of it over the table as he pours them both a glass.

“A toast!” he says.

Tanith picks up one of the flutes. “Sure. What to?”

“Hmm.” Bull thinks on this for a moment. “To good friends. And being brave.”

“Works for me.” She touches her glass to his. “Cheers.”

Sera and Dagna arrive not long after. To Tanith’s great surprise they’ve actually followed the dress code, Sera in a shirt and narrow tie, Dagna in a black dress with her hair down. They look great, and Tanith tells them so, earning a ‘fuck off’ from Sera, who can’t quite hide her blush. Dorian is fashionably late as usual, the hint of green in the embroidery of his suit jacket just enough to be tasteful while still standing out. Tanith has only had half a glass of champagne but she feels very lucky to be here with all these beautiful people, _her_ beautiful people. The music is good, the lighting is soft, the conversation is light. She almost manages to forget her anxiety, for a time.

“Hey,” Bull says a while later. “Anyone want to come and dance?”

“Oh, me!” Dagna says excitedly. She looks at Sera. “Please, sweetie?”

“Fine,” Sera rolls her eyes. “Only ‘cause you’re asking.”

Dorian knocks back the dregs of his champagne and nods. “I think I’m just about drunk enough.”

They look expectantly at Tanith. She doesn’t want to go downstairs, not really, she wants to stay here where it’s safe, where it’s predictable. But she can’t exactly sit in the booth by herself, and besides, it’s like Josie keeps telling her— she can’t just run away from situations she can’t control. Sometimes she needs to throw herself into them, to show herself what she’s capable of surviving.

So she gets up and follows them downstairs, keeping her eyes firmly trained on Bull’s wide back. He’s an anchor for her in the crowd, one who could double as a human shield in a pinch. Tanith tries not to scan the throng of people for a familiar face, keeps her eyes low while she dances, lets herself enjoy the music and the motion of her body as best she can. It’s fun, actually, she has to admit. She used to go dancing all the time, but she hasn’t found much time for it recently. Sera and Dagna swing each other around, giggling, bumping into irritated partygoers and giggling more. Dorian is a better dancer, though more self conscious than you’d expect. What Bull lacks in talent he makes up for with enthusiasm, and before long Tanith spots a few attractive people looking him up and down approvingly.

The place is getting crowded now, and right in the middle of the dancefloor it’s almost unbearably hot. Conscious of not sweating through her incredibly expensive dress, or dying of heat exhaustion before midnight, Tanith taps Bull on the shoulder.

“I need some water,” she yells over the music. “Meet you back up there?”

Bull nods. “Won’t be long. Got my eye on a tall drink of water myself.”

She grins at him. “Take your time.”

Tanith doesn’t have to queue for long at the bar, surprising given the amount of people waiting. Or maybe not surprising; that’s always been one of Varric’s strong points as an employer. He hires good staff, enough of them to do the job, and pays them well for doing it. Tanith forces herself to drink slowly, enjoying the coolness of the water as it slips down her parched throat. She puts the glass down on the bar, pats her lips dry with a cocktail napkin.

And then she sees him.

Blackwall is standing at the other end of the bar, one arm resting on the mahogany, looking out idly across the dancefloor. For a moment it’s like the whole world around her holds its breath. The music blurs, quiets, the movement of the revellers slows. He hasn’t seen her yet. Tanith just looks at him, knowing that she’s staring, unable to tear her eyes away. His hair is a little shorter, his beard a little neater, but the lines of his face are still achingly familiar to her. She can make out the edges of his tattoos where he’s rolled his sleeves up, the dark hair above his open collar. Three months of missing him hits her like a tidal wive, and all she wants to do in that moment is wrap her arms around his neck, hear his voice, breathe in the scent of him.

She has taken half a step forward when he turns around and looks at her. The recognition in his face is subtle but instant, the slightest raising of his eyebrows, a gentle shift in his posture. Tanith tries to force herself forward but instinct takes over and she’s turning, walking away, pushing her way through the crowd and towards the spiral stairs.

Once she’s back in the booth she pours herself another glass of champagne, spilling more than Bull did, her hands are shaking so much. She drinks it in quick sips, shaking her head at her own weakness. Her stupidity. It doesn’t help that she can picture Josephine’s face so clearly; not angry, just disappointed. Tanith is supposed to be confronting her fears, not running away from them. But the problem, she realises then, is that when she looked at Blackwall she didn’t feel fear. She felt hope. A far more dangerous thing.

By the time her friends get back Tanith has almost managed to calm down. She must still look shaken up though, because Sera immediately scowls at her.

“What’s wrong?” she says. “Have you been sick already? You’ve only had three drinks!”

Tanith shakes her head. “Not that.” Ordinarily she’d leave it there, reassure her friends that she’s fine, but she’s working on being honest. “I saw him. Blackwall.”

“Oh shit,” Sera says, sitting down and pouring herself a drink. “And? What did he say?”

“Nothing. I ran away.”

Dorian sighs. “We’ve all been there.”

“Ugh.” Tanith rakes her hands through her hair. “Forget it. I just want to enjoy the party.”

And she tries. She really does. She joins in the conversation, sips her champagne, laughs at her friends’ jokes. But it’s all on the surface. Inside Tanith can’t stop thinking about Blackwall, the look on his face when he first spotted her. He looked _relieved_ . She recognised it for what it was— it was exactly what she had felt when she saw him across the bar. Something in her heart had cried out the moment she laid eyes on him. _It’s you, it’s you, you’re here, I missed you_. But despite all that, she couldn’t just walk across the room and say hello to him. Old habits die hard.

But do they have to? Tanith thinks back over the last few months, of everything she’s done since she last saw him, everything she’s achieved. She doesn’t shrink away from closeness in the same way any more, doesn’t pull back as much when she’s asked to open up. The person she was before would have run, no question. But, in a lot of ways, she’s not that person any more. There are a million thoughts swarming around her head right now, but there’s one that is louder than the rest. _You let him go once. Don’t let him go again._

Before she knows what she’s doing she’s on her feet, walking out of the booth, making her way down the stairs, towards the bar. Blackwall isn’t standing there any more. Tanith cranes her neck to look across the dancefloor but she can’t see him there either, though she catches sight of Bull grinding with some attractive stranger. She squeezes past groups of partygoers as she walks to the door, spotting a familiar face.

“Varric!” she calls. “Hey!”

“Hey, Freckles. Enjoying the party? I’ll be up there for the countdown, I promise.”

“Yeah, it’s great, great party,” she says distractedly. “Listen, have you seen Blackwall?”

“Oh.” Varric’s face falls. “Shit. He already left. I’m sorry.”

Tanith’s heart drops. “He left? When?”

“Five minutes ago?”

“Shit. _Shit_. I wanted to talk to him.”

“From the hangdog look on his face I thought you already had.”

She feels numb, punch-drunk. What might have been her one chance to fix this, and she’s already fucked it up. Her cowardice ruining everything again. It’s only then, really, when the disappointment and the heartbreak hits her afresh, that she realises just how strongly she feels about him. That it’s the kind of feeling you don’t give up on so easily.

Tanith reaches down, starts pulling off her stilettos.

“Ah, Freckles,” Varric says. “You okay there?”

“Uh huh,” she says, shoving her shoes into his arms. “I’ll be right back.” Then she’s making for the door, pushing by several irritated customers, stepping past the confused-looking bouncer.

The moment her feet hit the ground outside she winces, swearing under her breath. It’s started snowing since the party started, because of course it fucking has, and the light dusting on the paving stones melts ice-cold through her stockings. Well, she’s started now.

Tanith takes off at half a run, guessing at a direction. There’s a cab rank a little way up the road, she remembers, and there’s no way the queue will be any less than twenty minutes long on New Year’s. She heads towards it, ignoring the crowds of revellers spilling out from the pubs, whooping and cheering at the crazy woman running barefoot and coat-less through the snow. A few minutes later she gets to the cab rank, glances through the faces in the queue, but he’s not among them. Five minutes. More like ten now, she guesses. How far can someone get in ten minutes? Pretty fucking far, probably.

She doubles back, tries another street turning off the first, gets halfway up it before giving up and returning to the waterfront. The snow is coming down heavier now and Tanith realises slowly what a pointless gambit this was, how hopeless it was to even try. Blackwall’s gone, he’s gone and she’s fucked it and it’s over, really, really over, and it’s all her fault.

“Fuck!” She screams it into the night, slamming the flat of her hand against a nearby lamppost. “ _Fuck_!”

“Tanith?”

And there he is. She turns around in time to see Blackwall walk out of a convenience store — the one directly opposite the Old Distillery, _of course_ — and step towards her, frowning. The collar of his coat is turned up against the cold, and flakes of slow are landing in his beard. He is perfect, and she is insane, and very, possibly, almost certainly in love with him.

“Hi,” she says, like an idiot.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, great,” Tanith says, then stops herself, shakes her head. “No. No, I’m not, actually.”

“What are you doing out here?” There’s concern in his eyes, a little alarm, and something else, something she can’t quite place.

She shrugs. “Looking for you.”

“Why?”

Tanith takes a breath. She knows that what she says next will make or break things, that this is the opportunity she has been hoping for, that she thought she’d lost. _One real thing. Just one real thing_.

“I come from a big family,” she says, taking a step towards him. “Big, and strict, and… suffocating. They had a very clear idea of what a Lavellan daughter should be like, and I didn’t fit it. So, as soon as I could, I got away from it. And I promised myself I’d never, ever let myself be held back like that again. I’ve spent my whole life running from anything I thought might make me feel that way.”

Jesus Christ, but it’s freezing. Tanith tries to ignore the gooseflesh prickling her arms as she steps forward again, fighting back a shiver.

“It’s made me selfish, and neurotic, and a little cold. If I start thinking there’s the slightest chance someone might try and change me I push, and I push, and I push until they’re gone.” Seeing the look on his face, she shakes her head. “I’m not making excuses. The way I treated you wasn’t okay, and I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just need you to understand why I behaved the way I did. I need you to understand it was nothing to do with you. Nothing at all.”

Blackwall’s eyes are inscrutable. “So why did you end it?”

“I thought leaving was better than sticking around and waiting for things to fall apart,” she says. “But I was wrong. I was thought I was being smart, and sensible, and tough, but I wasn’t. I was just scared. And then it was too late.” Tanith feels her eyes burning, lifts her hand to wipe the first tears away. “I miss you. I _really_ miss you.”

“I miss you too.” His voice is low in his throat, and the sound of it makes her heart turn over in her chest.

“I like my space,” she says. “I like living alone. I like seeing my friends, and working till midnight, and going away for the weekend by myself. Those things aren’t going to change. But I’m trying, Blackwall. I’m really trying. I’m seeing a therapist, I’m—” she grimaces “—talking about my feelings. I’m trying to be a better person. Because for the last few months I just kept thinking that even if I never saw you again, even if you hated me, I still wanted to be someone you deserved. I wanted to be someone who was worthy of you.”

Blackwall just looks at her, the barest crease forming between his brows. When he doesn’t speak straight away Tanith starts babbling again, unable to stop herself now she’s started.

“I can’t promise I wouldn’t fuck up, if I had another chance. I’d probably freak out, and panic, and close up sometimes. But I can promise you that I’d try. That I’d keep trying until I got it right.” She’s really crying now, tears hot against her cheeks. Her arms are freezing, her feet are numb, and yet she barely feels it. All she can think about is what he’ll say next.

Blackwall’s breath makes clouds in the air when he finally speaks. “Are you saying you want another chance?”

“Yeah,” Tanith nods, half-laughing at herself at the absurdity of it all. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

For what seems like forever he says nothing, just stands there with the snow settling on his shoulders. Then he meets her eyes, smiles like the sun breaking after rain. “I think I could do that.”

Tanith sobs once, gives him a hopeless little thumbs up. “Cool.”

Then he’s beside her, his arms around her waist, his mouth against hers the warmest thing she’s ever felt, and she’s crying and laughing and pulling him close to her, not caring about the mascara running down her face, the ladders in her stockings, the fact she’s just had a breakdown in the middle of the street. All she cares about is the way he buries his face in the curve of her shoulder, the nearness of him, the feel of his damp hair between her fingers.

When he finally pulls away from her Tanith notices that his eyes are as wet as hers are. Blackwall sniffs, clears his throat. “Where are your shoes?”

She laughs. “Inside. Varric’s looking after them.”

“We should probably go back in then.”

“Yeah. I’m not sure that speech was worth getting frostbite for.”

“Come on,” he leans over, pats his back. “Get on.”

“Wow,” Tanith says. “Now this is the kind of treatment I could get used to.” She hops onto his back, lets him piggyback her back across the square. Once they’re back inside she climbs down as delicately as she can, smooths her skirt out.

“Alright,” she says. “Come with me. There’s some people I want you to meet.”

Tanith can’t remember the last time she had a night like it. When she brings Blackwall up to the balcony her friends cheer, _actually cheer_ , and rather than being horrified she just laughs along with them. Then there’s more champagne — a lot more champagne — and after that things get a little hazy. Later she’ll remember introducing him to her friends, them getting along better than she could have ever anticipated, the warm weight of his arm around her shoulders all night. They’re back in time for the countdown and at midnight she kisses him again, letting it linger until long after the confetti has stopped falling. The way he smiles at her afterwards, like he can’t believe his luck, is the most beautiful thing Tanith has ever seen.

They leave while everyone else is still dancing, getting a cab to her place in the early hours. Once they’re back at the apartment they go to bed, fall asleep tangled in one another’s arms, too drunk and exhausted for anything else. The hangover the following day is brutal, but even that isn’t enough to spoil Tanith’s mood. She wakes up smiling, her head resting against his chest.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Morning.” Blackwall winces against the winter sunlight. “How are you feeling?”

“Happy,” she says. “And also like I want to throw up and maybe die. But mostly the first one.”

As a little exercise in loosening her control she lets him make breakfast in her kitchen, sitting at the counter and biting her tongue every time she wants to micromanage. She’s rewarded for her restraint— as it turns out, he’s a really good cook. Once they’ve eaten they take another nap, and when they finally wake up for good Tanith feels almost normal again.

“I need a shower,” she says. “Care to join me?”

A few minutes later they’re pressed against the cubicle wall, the water warm on the back of Tanith’s neck. She kisses him deep before moving her lips to his shoulder, biting down hard. Blackwall swears, arches up against her.

“So.” Tanith runs her hand over his chest, up to his throat, presses her fingers into the flesh there. She looks him in the eyes and smiles. “Are you ready, darling?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading this far! this turned into something so much bigger than i ever anticipated and knowing that people have enjoyed it has meant so much to me
> 
> this is the de facto end of the narrative but there will be a very smutty epilogue chapter, because i feel bad for promising y'all a non stop smut rollercoaster and then accidentally writing a romance novel
> 
> as always you can follow me on twitter @elfthirst


	11. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suggested Soundtrack**   
>  [Doja Cat & Gucci Mane - Like That](https://open.spotify.com/track/4EivmOT13NMpNSfTKn9p4s?si=yz2YbIkwTzSVeAZQkZtxsw)   
>  [Clairo - Softly](https://open.spotify.com/track/4PvbbMYL4fkToni5BLaYRb?si=DKPKtLSmQhCMp3v1iJEcjA)   
>  [Carly Rae Jepsen - Automatically In Love](https://open.spotify.com/track/69XN0XjxcMtUCrvOEd0KYd?si=SLMfS3phSlevuUM1bXO8_Q)

Tanith checks the knots are firm and then climbs down from the chair, admiring her handiwork.

She likes Blackwall’s place. It’s open and airy and quiet and, most importantly, he owns it outright. That means that they can do DIY projects here that Tanith’s landlord won’t let her do in her rented apartment. Projects such as installing a metal ring in the ceiling which could theoretically be used for some kind of exercise equipment or, perhaps, that a very small woman standing on a chair could thread a length of rope through.

Tanith walks backwards a few steps, wanting to take in all of him. Blackwall’s wrists are bound above his head, just high enough off the ground that he can’t quite stand flat-footed on the carpet. The way his body is extended brings out the muscles in his shoulders, his calves, makes his chest seem even broader than usual. Afternoon sunlight streams in through the window, picking out the grey at his temples, the metal ring on his collar, the little glint of challenge in his eyes.

“Well,” Tanith says. “Don’t you look a picture. Comfortable, darling?”

Blackwall smiles at her wolfishly. “I could stay here all day.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she laughs. Tanith walks over to him, runs a proprietary finger under the waistband of his underwear. Her underwear, actually, a little scrap of lace that was on its way out anyway. She snaps the elastic, enjoying the way he tries not to flinch. “Bless. You’re so tough.”

He tries to shrug, but is hampered by the way his arms are bound. “Maybe. Care to test that theory?”

“God, you are _thirsty_ today.” Tanith presses her body close to his, reaches around to sink her nails into his ass. “Don’t make me do something I’ll regret.”

Blackwall nuzzles into her throat and, Christ, she loves the way his beard rasps against the skin there. “Please do.”

“Alright,” she says, backing away. “You asked for it.”

Tanith glances around the room for inspiration, her eyes settling on the clothes they discarded on the floor the previous night. She crouches down and unthreads the leather belt from the loops of his jeans, testing the strength of it. That will do nicely. Wrapping the buckle end around her hand, she stands up and wanders back over to him.

“You’re getting far too cocky,” she says. “I think you need teaching a lesson.”

The way Blackwall looks at her says that this prospect is not off-putting in the slightest, and Tanith has to bite back a smile. She walks around behind him, trailing her fingers across his hips, up the notches of his spine. Having his arms tied above his head is doing things to his shoulders that make Tanith feel lightheaded. She clamps her thighs together, trying to keep her own arousal at bay for the time being.

At first she just tests the belt out, a few exploratory flicks while she finds the best angle, the perfect length. Once she has it right she swivels at the hips, puts all of her weight into the next stroke. Stretched out as he is it’s almost enough to throw Blackwall off balance, and his wrists strain at the rope while he struggles to right himself. He doesn’t cry out, though— he’s learned to control himself in that department, knowing that it drives Tanith crazy, that she’ll keep pushing until she manages to wrest some sound from him.

“How does that feel?” she says.

“How does what feel?”

“You are such a brat.” Tanith grabs hold of his ribs to steady him, presses a quick kiss between his shoulder blades. Then she rests her fingertips against the small of his back to better control her aim, lands three more blows in succession. This earns her a low grunt, just enough to know that her efforts are paying off. She crouches down, runs her tongue over the edges of the welts forming on the back of his thighs, then blows cold air against the skin. His flesh there is already mottled in watercolour shades of mauve and ochre, old bruises healing and fresher ones on top. Tanith’s claim on him, written clearly on his body over these past few months.

She stands up, stretches, flicks the belt lightly a few times to lull him into a false sense of security, then whips it back hard enough to burn. Blackwall is breathing hard now, the effort of controlling both his balance and his voice taking its toll. His skin is damp with sweat, arms shaking from the strain of remaining upright. Tanith presses her cheek against his shoulder, reaching around to run her fingers through the hair on his chest.

“That’s more like it,” she purrs. “Not so eager to act out now, are we?”

“Maybe not.”

“I’d better keep at it,” she says. “Just to be sure.”

She works at him a while longer, watching the belt leave pink imprints on pale skin, smiling every time he chokes back a curse. Eventually he relents, crying out when she lands a particularly nasty swipe on the sensitive crease between his ass and his thigh.

“There we go,” Tanith says, running her thumb over the new line of raised flesh. “Hmm. I think you’ve earned a little something.”

Slowly, so slowly, she walks around to face him, stands on tiptoes so she can kiss him. Blackwall leans into it, humming against her lips. Tanith threads the belt around his back, taking one end in each hand as she sinks down to her knees. She pulls his underwear out of the way with her teeth, smiling when she sees how hard he is, then gently licks along the length of him.

“Fuck, Tan,” he breathes.

Tanith teases him a little longer before dipping her head down to take his cock in her mouth. Blackwall has abandoned all pretense of silence now, moaning as she sucks him, slowly, deliberately, not quite enough to ease the ache. She waits until she’s certain he’s forgotten about the belt before letting it slacken in her hands, then snapping it tight against his ass. His muscles jerk at the impact and Tanith moves a little faster, swirling her tongue over the head of his cock, making sure the pleasure he feels is irrevocably tangled with the pain.

Her own arousal is too intense to be ignored now, a growing heat between her thighs that makes her squirm where she kneels. Carefully she backs away from him, wipes the saliva from her lips as she gets to her feet. The chair is still where she left it, and Tanith drags it around so it’s facing him from a few feet away. She sits down, rests one heel on the seat so her knee is close to her chest, then sucks two fingers into her mouth. Once they’re slick she slips her hand inside her underwear, begins to trace small circles around her clit.

“Now that’s just cruel.” Blackwall’s eyes are hungry as he watches her.

“I know,” she says, arching her back. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

She holds his gaze as she teases herself, playing up to it, humming with pleasure as she touches herself. Seeing him tied there, rigid with need, desperate for her, unable to do a single thing about it, pushes Tanith closer to the edge than she had intended. As wicked as it would be to finish without his input, he’s not actually done anything to deserve that. Not today, anyway. So when she feels her orgasm building she stops, pushes herself back up to her feet and walks over to him. She runs her fingers across his lips, lets him taste her.

“Are you going to behave if I let you down?”

“Probably not.”

The corner of Tanith’s mouth quirks upwards. “Right answer.”

She drags the chair over and spends a few precarious moments on her tiptoes while she undoes the knots. When the rope is loose Blackwall sighs with relief, rubbing the chafed skin at his wrists while he stretches out his shoulders.

“‘I’ve got a great idea for a home improvement project’, she said. ‘It’ll be fun’.”

Tanith pouts, folding her arms across her chest. “Aren’t you having fun?”

Blackwall smiles up at her. “You know I am.”

He wraps his arms around her hips, lifting her off the chair. Tanith keeps her arms crossed and her back stiff, looking down him with mock-disapproval.

“Now you’re just taking liberties.”

“My apologies.”

“If I was a more cynical woman I’d say that you’re not sorry at all.” She reaches down, pushes his hair back from his forehead. “Bed. Now.”

He doesn’t take much convincing. They collapse, laughing, onto the mattress, and Tanith claws at Blackwall’s shoulders as he tugs off her underwear. When they kiss it’s a half-clumsy thing, more concerned with sating a hunger than it is with finesse. Tanith gasps as he pushes into her, rolling her hips up to meet his. She wraps her arms around his neck and settles back into the pillows, losing herself in the feel of him, deep and warm and close. They draw it out in that way you can only ever seem to on a weekend afternoon, luxuriating in the feel of each other without rushing towards the end. Tanith is on top when she finally cums, teasing herself as she rides his cock, and Blackwall reaches his own climax almost before she’s finished gasping. She half falls on top of him, breathing hard against his cheek as she reaches back to unbuckle his collar.

Once they’ve both caught their breath Tanith curls up next to him, head resting on his shoulder. She traces the lines of his tattoos idly with her fingertip; she knows what every one of them means.

It’s been six months now, six months since Tanith stood barefoot in the snow at the turning of the year and poured her heart out to him. On reflection, it might be the best decision she ever made. They see each other once a week now, sometimes more, sometimes less, often enough that their relationship feels legitimate, not so often that they don’t have time to miss one another. Tanith is amazed every day by how _easy_ it is. It’s not something she’s ever experienced before, being with someone and not constantly anticipating the end. The strangest thing is that everything she had feared, all of those eventualities that she had once dreaded, have more or less come to pass; there have been times where she has been with him and suddenly craved her own space, or when she has clammed up around him for no reason. But when these situations have arisen, they haven’t spelled the end. She doesn’t smoulder with resentment, irritated by his presence, he doesn’t look at her like she has failed to meet some impossible standard. They talk about it. They compromise. They find a way to make it work, every time. Tanith didn’t know that a relationship _could_ be like this, but now that she knows she is even more determined not to let it go.

“What time do we need to be there?” Blackwall asks.

“Not till eight,” Tanith says. “Got a few hours yet.”

“Did you get the present sorted?”

“I’m doing the photography gratis _and_ I’m giving Sera two weeks paid leave for the honeymoon. What more do they want?” She grins at him. “Yeah, I sorted it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sera and Dagna weren’t even going to have an engagement party but Varric had insisted, booking out the Lounge for the evening and making sure Bull had the night off work. Tanith is looking forward to it. With her schedule the way it’s been the last few months, she hasn’t had as much time to spend with her friends as she would like. And it will be nice to have Blackwall there with her, to introduce him to the handful of people he hasn’t met yet. To say _hey, good to see you, this is my boyfriend_. Tanith is still getting used to that, and thinks she will be for a while, but not in a bad way. She likes the way the word tastes in her mouth, enjoys trying it out at every opportunity.

“Aw,” Tanith says. “You realise this is the first time we’ll have gone to the Lounge since… you know.”

Blackwall laughs. “Are you planning on dragging me into a toilet cubicle again?”

“Maybe. If you’re lucky.” Tanith rolls over to face him, kisses him long and slow. “Hey,” she says. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Every time she says it he gives her the same look, like he can’t quite believe he’s hearing it but he’s happy that he is. It makes her heart ache, makes her adore him just that little bit more. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of saying it, ever get tired of hearing it. For the first time in her life she feels like she deserves to hear it.

They should get up at some point, should get dressed and make dinner and get ready for the party. But not yet. The summer afternoon is warm, the light golden where it hits the pillow, and right now Tanith is too happy and too comfortable to move. Usually she wouldn’t be able to relax knowing that she had things to do, places to be, but right now she doesn’t mind.

She has what she needs. The world can wait a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all folks! thank you all so much for reading, your kudos and comments have meant the absolute world to me and have kept me going these last couple of weeks of quarantine
> 
> [full fic playlist here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6EYRSBMZ4JbPLn6cVkl0pK?si=pVLZv112RUekmTBwJ5kiMg) \- cover art by the amazing @foolsflyingship on twitter who is the real MVP of this entire fic


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